


Grim Tails

by Polska_1999



Category: DreamWorks Dragons (Cartoon), How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, On the Run, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Presumed Dead, Running Away, Tags May Change, What-If, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-15
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-03-31 17:52:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 90,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13980354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polska_1999/pseuds/Polska_1999
Summary: When Hiccup "the Useless" Haddock decides he can't stand any more belittling, he decides to cast himself out to sea instead of throwing himself off of Raven Point. He dreams of finding some place where strength isn't everything, where intelligence is valued, where he is valued. Maybe he'll learn something and get stronger along the way.He never expected his old home to come looking for him... but will it be enough to make up for so many years of suffering?





	1. Introduction: That Furious Night

"...Okay, but I hit a night fury." 

The young heir of Berk had believed that these words would be his saving grace, that they'd fix his entire life for him. He's always been the runt, the idiot, the useless non-viking viking. Killing a dragon is everything to his tribe — killing the most elusive one of all would surely make his father pay attention to him, right? 

Alas, his father's response had shattered those hopes. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Raven's Point. 

On days when Snotlout and the other Hooligans had been particularly nasty towards him, Hiccup had gone here to think, to sit on the edge with his legs hanging down and wonder if the several seconds of falling would be enough to make up for the expected pain of hitting the ground. Today, however, he did not come here to muse on his role (or lack thereof) in the village. 

Today, he had a dragon to find. 

He walks through the forest, muttering to himself angrily as his search for the downed dragon seems to be futile. "Some people lose their knife, or their mug..." Then, his voice gets louder as he comments bitterly on his own rotten luck, "but no, not me — I manage to lose an entire dragon!?" The normally docile and calm boy raises his hand and smacks a branch with his entire strength. The catharsis makes him feel a bit better, at least until the branch snaps back and smacks him in the face.  He immediately releases a hiss of pain, holding a hand to his face, as he curses his own lack of foresight. Of course the branch would go back in its place; Hiccup "the Useless" is not strong enough to break a branch clean off of a tree. 

Then, his thoughts stop as his eyes notice something up ahead. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He couldn't do it. 

Why couldn't he do it?

Of course it would be just his luck for his strength to back down just as he finally, finally captured a dragon. And a night fury, no less! Gods, if he had brought its head to the village, everyone would apologize for how they acted. They would never tease him about being "Hiccup the Useless" ever again. He had the dragon. It was tied up in a bola, unable to get free. He had a knife, he could have so easily killed it and then taken some proof to his dad so that the tribe would believe him and could help drag the rest of the dragon's body back to the village... 

And instead, he took the knife and cut the ropes. Classic, Hiccup. Classic. Shame that the dragon hadn't killed him at the spot, too. "Hiccup the Useless, the only person to get killed by a night fury because he released it on himself." His cousin would never let anyone forget. Berk would know about it for the next several hundred years. But, Hiccup survived — by fluke, by luck, or by misfortune. Now, everyone will just think that he made up the fact that he captured a night fury. He could have at least taken a few scales, or something: a proof that he shot it down. Then, he could have blamed the dragon's escape on the ropes being too loose, or too thin, or something. 

Oh well — it's a lost opportunity now. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He doesn't listen. Why does he never listen? Hiccup knows he can't kill a dragon if it was tied up in front of him, just like his dad had suspected for most of his life, so why does dad want him to go to dragon training? It's pointless, it's useless, it's unnecessary, just like Hiccup himself is. But, as always, Stoick never listens to the boy and wants him to try, even if Hiccup is certain that they both know that Hiccup will end up only embarrassing himself and his family name even more. Is this a final cruelty, a way for Stoick to decide if Hiccup is worth anything? If Hiccup is worthy of becoming a chief in the future? If he's worthy of being called Stoick's son?

Hiccup already knows what the answers to those questions are, even if he doesn't like them. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dragon training went about as well as he expected. Almost killed by a Gronckle lava blast on day one, then almost impaled by a Nadder's spikes on day two. The only reason he wasn't eliminated first is because Fishlegs turned tail and ran when faced with the Zippleback, getting automatically labeled more of a coward for running before even being attacked. 

The evening after he got kicked out, he took to burying himself in work at the forge. It's the only place he feels safe in, although he feels as if at this rate even Gobber won't want him. Nonetheless, the two-limbed viking is one of the few people who has been nice to him, and Hiccup understands without bitterness if he used up all of the chances the smith gave him. With Gobber, at least Hiccup had been given those chances. 

Hiccup sighs as he looks around. He has diagrams and sketches pinned to every available spot on the wall, with even more papers on the desk's surface and in its drawers. All failures, of course. None of his inventions ever worked properly or did anything good, and there's plenty of people on Berk who are more than willing to constantly remind him of that. As he sits at the desk, his hand holds the charcoal and sketches it absent-mindedly against the parchment, creating imperfect and meaningless lines, ones that lack solidity and confidence. He doesn't even know what he's drawing: could be a new invention, one of his actually successful peers, a tree...  

"Been lookin' fer ye," a voice suddenly says from the doorway to the small room, knocking Hiccup out of his thoughts and causing the charcoal to fall from his hand. Of course, it's just the old smith — no one else would probably want to talk to Hiccup now, not after the debacle during dragon training. Hiccup normally doesn't mind conversing with Gobber, but he's really not in the mood for it today. Hiccup's lack of an answer speaks volumes to the old blacksmith, and the one-legged, one-armed man actually tries to squeeze into the small room behind the forge, where his apprentice currently is. After several attempts and almost getting stuck in the door, Gobber manages to force his way in, taking up at least half of the tiny room. He comments off-handedly with a grunt, "we need t' get ye a bigger room, or at leas' a bigger door." 

"This one's fine, Gobber," Hiccup told the smith. No need to use more resources and energy on him, anyways. 

"Aye, it is - fo' someone yer size. Yer father woul' knock th' entire roof o' th' forge down if 'e ever tried t' come in 'ere." 

"He doesn't really have a reason to come in here." Hiccup knows this from experience. In his five years of being Gobber's apprentice, his dad had rarely came to visit him at the forge, much less came in to check on him in his room. The Chief preferred standing outside and yelling for his son to come out to greet him. 

"Maybe 'e woul' if 'e could fit. They don' call 'im Stoick 'the Vast' fer no reason." If the Chief was around, Gobber probably wouldn't have made such a comment. But, Stoick is off looking for the dragon's nest, and the blacksmith's apprentice is more down than a sunken ship. Gobber has to do something. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hiccup's respect for his mentor had only been raised by their recent conversations. It seems that Gobber still believes that the boy is not completely useless; given recent events, that's far more than Hiccup could ever ask for. In return, the boy took to working his butt off in the forge, working under the day's sun and the night's stars alike, in the warmth of sunlight and the glow of candlelight. He also asked Gobber for some more lessons. He's already proven that he can't fight dragons, so why not learn more of what he's actually good at? Gobber doesn't mind much, thankfully, and he doesn't question Hiccup's motives. Not openly, at least. 

If Odin and Thor hate Hiccup, then it seems that Loki has a soft spot for the boy. Hiccup could not have planned it out better himself, and it took all of his willpower to not accidentally give his plans away when Gobber said he'll teach Hiccup how to create things outside the forge. Namely, ships. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Yer doin' what!?" 

And there went any semblance of a soft spot for the boy on Loki's part. 

"Gobber, please, hear me out," Hiccup pleaded with the blacksmith. When Hiccup accidentally dropped his bag and caused all of its contents to spill onto the floor of the forge, Gobber had gotten down to help pick the items up: a map of the Archipelago, a list of supplies, a book "borrowed" from Gothi about common diseases, a sheet with notes on how to care for different types of wounds, a large but thin cloth that looks suspiciously like the sail of a small boat, et cetera. Gobber may not be the chief and he may be missing two limbs, but that doesn't make him an idiot. He recognizes the signs when he sees them, and he is not a happy camper. Hiccup has trouble distinguishing if the blacksmith's reaction is caused by anger or worry, although the voice in the back of his head constantly reminds him that the latter is incredibly unlikely. 

"Alrigh' - start talkin' then, befo' ye make me old 'eart wear out wi' worry."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"...yer father'll kill me."

"You don't need to tell him anything, Gobber. I'm not asking you to. Just... say I was taken in a dragon raid, or something. Dragons need toothpicks, don't they?"

The unimpressed glare Hiccup gets from his mentor illustrates exactly how the blacksmith feels about Hiccup's reuse of the man's words from days before. 

"'E'll do somethin' stupi' when 'e finds out. Ye're too young t' remember wha' 'e was like when 'e lost yer mother, bu' I remember too well, 'Iccup." 

"He won't."

"Yer father cares fer ye more than ye think."

"Really? Then he has a funny way of showing it."

Gobber sighs, massaging his forehead with his one good hand. His apprentice has gone mad, insane, crazy. Then again, Gobber knows why. It's the same reason Valka and Stoick argued so many times. Whenever something goes wrong, dragons are always involved. Gobber knew from the moment he saw Hiccup that the boy would never kill dragons — he's too much like his mother. Gobber knew he made a promise to Stoick, that he wouldn't let the boy come to harm; Hiccup is the only thing Stoick has left of Valka. If being home on Berk is harming Hiccup so, then Gobber needs to help protect the boy, even if his methods are a bit unorthodox and require blatantly lying to the Chief. Hiccup needs proof that Stoick cares. Stoick needs a reminder that Hiccup is a boy and needs attention. Gobber needs to provide both.

"If ye ain' th' death o' me, then ye'll be th' reason I lose th' rest o' me limbs."


	2. Stormy Skies

“So, Astrid won, huh?” The question was punctuated by the harsh strike of metal against metal; then another strike, then another, then another. 

“Ye’r surprised?” Now, it’s the whirl of the grindstone, metal meeting rock in an unmatched fight that blacksmiths take advantage of. 

“I’d be more surprised if she didn’t win. She’s, well, Astrid.” Not even the hiss of metal cooling in water could hide the admiration present in the boy’s voice. Gobber knows his own apprentice well; the boy has had a crush on the Hofferson lass since before Stoick sent the lad to work in the forge.  Alas, not even the thought of leaving the girl behind could get Hiccup to change his mind, and it’s not due to Gobber’s lack of trying. The boy knows that the chances of Astrid willingly dating him are nonexistent now. 

“Aye,” was all Gobber could say. He’d spent the last week trying to convince Hiccup to stay, but the boy would have none of it. 

A silence falls. Hiccup looks around the forge. If he’ll miss anything about Berk, it’ll be the forge, the place where he learned to turn his ideas into creations and where he could be free and himself without any prying eyes watching and judging his every move. He’ll miss the warmth of the fire, the comfort of his small room in the back of the forge, the whirl of the grindstone as it sharpens a blade flawlessly, the peace of sketching diagrams by candlelight when the rest of the village is fast asleep… 

But, he knows he has to do this. Outside the forge, the world is not kind to him, and it’s only a matter of time before he has his birthright taken away by the council, thus slamming the final nail in the coffin that will truly make him “Useless.”

He sighs, “everything’s ready, I guess.” Then he looks up, making contact with his mentor before saying, “thank you for helping. I doubt I could get past Outcast Island if I had to do this on my own.” Thanks to Gobber, he has a boat sturdy enough to bring him all the way to the Northern Markets and enough items to trade for supplies once he gets there. 

“Sen’ me a lett’r fro’ time t’ time if ye can. Jus’ so I know yer still alive. I won’ tell Stoick abou’ ‘em if ye don’ wan’ me to.”

Those words mean more to Hiccup than the blacksmith knows. 

Hiccup sets off during the night, hoping to be out of range of Berk’s sight by the time the sun sets. He sails North, letting the stars guide his way towards fate. As he sails, he casts one last glance back at his old home… and sees it going up in flames. He fled just before a dragon raid, it seems. Whatever; he wouldn’t have been of help to the vikings anyways. He just hopes none of the dragons decide to fly down and attack his ship. 

Besides a stray Gronckle just flying past overhead, none of the dragons seem to care for him. 

He’s unaware of the black shape gliding just above the water near his ship, watching him. The dark dragon’s curious green eyes were the only thing that could be noticed if Hiccup was to look in its direction. The dragon is not sure what to make of this odd human that had released him - is the human friendly or harmful? Why is he going away from his family? Why does he smell of despair and loneliness?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That night, Berk is ravaged by a dragon attack and a storm. Gobber is not the most religious of men, but in the dead of night, he braved through the pouring rain to reach Gothi’s home. It has only been two hours since Hiccup had sailed off, but then a storm had suddenly taken hold, and the blacksmith worries for his apprentice. The boy has never sailed on his own, and tonight’s storm promises to be one that could drown the most experienced viking sailors or the best-crafted of viking war ships. Gobber felt that he owed this much to the boy.

His demanding but gentle knock on the door is answered rather quickly by the short and furious Elder, whose glare demands to know why she had been torn from her bed during an awful storm at an ungodly time at night. Gobber is more quiet than usual, stumbling with his words as he asks for a slightly-emergency prayer to the Gods for the heir of Berk. Of course, despite her age, the Elder is neither blind nor deaf; in fact, she’s more aware of things in the village than the Chief himself is. She realizes what Gobber is referring to, and suddenly grabs the man’s remaining good arm and drags him into her hut with a strength that no old lady should possess in normal conditions. Then again, Gothi is no normal old lady. 

She knows that the heir left, that the gods had decreed it would be so when he dropped out of Dragon Training. She knows that there had been a glitch, a problem with the foretelling of the old chicken bones, for they had shown a way out that did not include the boy running away. She does not know who changed the course of destiny, whether it was Hiccup or Gobber or Stoick or someone else. She only knows one thing — that Hiccup will face many hardships on his journey for acceptance, but no matter what, but he will do everything to persevere.

He’s the son of Stoick the Vast and Valka Jorgenson for a reason. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Out on the furious seas, Hiccup was having trouble. He may be brilliant, but brilliant means nothing when the gods have pulled out the cork on the skies and suddenly drained their bathtub back into the seas. Thor seems especially angry as lightning bolts arc overhead like dragons during a raid. Hiccup is trying to steer the ship to the best of his abilities, but at this point, the wheel is holding him instead of him holding the wheel. If he can’t control the ship and get out of the storm, he’s doomed to crash. 

As another wave tosses his ship around and almost capsizes it, something hard and heavy must have been sent flying, for it hits the back of Hiccup’s head. There’s a flash of white, accompanied by booming thunder, and Hiccup’s last thought as his consciousness slips away faster than a night fury is wondering if his father will ever find his body out on the furious seas. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Dragon Trainin’s cancelled,” Gobber announced to the teens the next morning, his appearance giving way his lack of sleep. The statement got a response of a collective, if not annoyed, groan. 

“Dang it, and I was so hoping for…” the rest of Snotlout’s words are said too quietly for Gobber to hear, but the blacksmith knows that the Jorgenson wanted to either ogle Astrid as she took down the Gronckle one more time before her final trial or see Astrid fail so that he could have another claim at being named champion. Judging by the hard thwack the thick-headed idiot receives from the girl, it’s probably the first. Of course, this gets a complaint of pain.

“Did Hiccup break something again during the raid?” Astrid asks exasperatedly. Hiccup always messed something up, and if the entire village didn’t need to clean it up, then the task usually fell on Gobber.  

“‘e’s gone.” The blacksmith’s words come out rather somber and illicit several gasps from the group, for several reasons. 

Tuffnut is the first to find his voice, speaking the words, “You’re kidding, right?”

“That’s… not possible,” Astrid whispered, a bit horrified. 

“I know, right; how did someone kill Loki’s most destructive champion!?” Ruffnut exclaims. 

“Come on, people — it’s Hiccup. I mean, do we really need him?” The waver in Snotlout’s voice gives away that deep down, in that messed up little heart of his, he actually cares a bit for his cousin. Even if the comment makes Gobber’s blood want to boil. Thankfully, someone else beats Gobber to the punch.

“How could you even say that!?” Fishlegs exclaimed at Snotlout, horrified and slightly angry. “He’s your cousin!”

“Yeah, so?” Snotlout attempts to maintain his image and demeanor. 

“‘So’? Shouldn’t you be more worried!?”

Snotlout waves it off, or at least tries to. It doesn’t really fool anyone. “Nah, it was bound to happen.”

“Well, Snotlou’, if ye’r not affect’d by yer cousin’s disappearance, then ye can be th’ one t’ tell th’ Chief tha’ ‘Iccup’s missin’,” Gobber decided. It’s unlikely that this will work, but maybe it’ll teach Snotlout to watch his damn mouth… especially now that Snotlout is the next in line to become heir. 

Snotlout pales like he was struck by lightning.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

An armada of ships heads towards Berk’s docks. None of the ships are in good condition; most of them have damaged sails, some have broken masts, and many more have holes burned into them. The recent storm had not done them any good — it led to more injuries, more damage, more losses. By this point, many of the vikings had stopped caring about how they didn’t find the nest — their thoughts and desires of returning home proved stronger than a Monstrous Nightmare’s talons. The vikings were packed several dozen per boat, far more than the boats were meant to carry, and felt like sardines in a barrel. When they finally reached the docks, it was as if their nightmare was finally over. Their friends and family, who had came to the docks upon hearing that the ships had been sighted, help the warriors off of the damaged vessels. The atmosphere is rather somber as Stoick is helped off of the ship. The Chief is not satisfied; this was their final chance to try and find the nest before winter set in, and it went about as well as trying to catch an eel with bare hands.

“Well, I trus’ ye foun’ th’ nest, a’ least,” Gobber says as he approaches the Chief, even if he knows what the answer probably is. 

“Not ev’n close.” 

“Excellent,” Gobber grunted. Part of him hopes that Stoick’s exhaustion will lead to a more mild reaction upon finding out a certain piece of news: preferably, a reaction that doesn’t involve throwing axes at heads. Gobber has done many things he regretted, but his most recent failure may get him exiled at the least and executed at the worst if Stoick finds out the entire truth. 

“I hope you ‘ad more success than me.”

Gobber just clears his throat slightly, nervously. He doesn’t say anything, letting his silence speak for now. After all, it was agreed that he won’t be the one to say it. Instead, the blacksmith simply takes the bag Stoick was holding under his arm and carries it. The Chief is exhausted enough, and Gobber doubts that the news Stoick’s about to get will help in any way. 

The silence gets a sigh out of Stoick. So his son hadn’t gotten better at fighting dragons at all in the meantime. Ah, well… what could Stoick have expected? A miracle from Odin himself? It’s ridiculous to even think it was possible for Hiccup to become good at fighting dragons out of nowhere. He’s a Hiccup, after all, and perhaps the Gods don’t favor him as much as they usually favor tribe heirs. In the end, Stoick can’t complain too much. In the end, Hiccup is still his son. In the end, Hiccup is the last thing Stoick has of Valka. So what if Hiccup is more similar to her than he is to him? That shouldn’t make a difference. He’s still Stoick’s son.

A little voice in the back of his head reminds the Chief that maybe it does make a difference. 

“Chief! Chief!” A voice suddenly calls out. Snotlout runs over so fast that he almost barrels into Stoick and Gobber. For once, the Jorgenson seems out of breath. Gobber knows the reason for this, of course. After being informed that he’ll need to break the news to the Chief, Snotlout had actually ran off and spent the next however many hours he had scouring the island, looking for any trace of his cousin that he could find.  

Stoick sighs, “jus’ make i’ quick, lad.” The Jorgensons seldom have important things to tell him, especially Snotlout. The boy’s always looking for a chance to show off or to get an advantage in some form.  

Snotlout pants for air, trying to catch his breath, before announcing the words that the Chief will never, ever forget. 

“Chief, Hiccup’s missing!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! This is probably the fastest I've ever updated a fanfic! Don't expect it to last, unfortunately -- life is a thing and it likes to get in the way of fun stuff. Anyways, we saw Hiccup make his final decision, some other stuff happens, Snotlout acts mean and then regrets it, and Stoick returns. The next chapter should bring about a bit more action as tensions rise. We'll meet some friends and some foes, along with some people that make you question which side they're actually on. 
> 
> Feel free to leave a comment if you have a question, want to make a request, have something to say, et cetera. Thanks for reading! (and a special thanks to Fayolah for beta-ing this chapter!)


	3. Unfortunate Events

When Hiccup opens his eyes, he finds himself blinded. 

He can hear the screeches of seagulls up above him. The skies are clear, allowing the sun to shine its painfully bright rays directly into his eyes. The air smells of the sea, a crisp breeze lazily lifting the scent along. The floor, or whatever the hard surface Hiccup is currently laying on was, is swaying gently beneath him. His head is throbbing. 

“Master Hiccup, you’re finally awake!” came a familiar voice from nearby, laced with relief. Hiccup tries to sit up, an action that proves far more difficult than he expected, as quick footsteps approach him. A hand on his shoulder pushes him back down gently as the friendly trader speaks, “you gave me quite the scare, Master Hiccup. I was sailing along the calm seas after that terrible storm, when suddenly I saw a small boat! I was about to go around it, but saw that the mast was broken and feared that the dreaded pirates had harmed one of my brothers in trade! So I…”

At that point, Hiccup tunes out slightly, turning his head to look around a bit. So Johann saved him after he got knocked unconscious during that storm. With his eyes having adjusted a bit and the sun thus no longer as blinding, Hiccup gets the chance to look around. Judging by the symbols on the crates and Hiccup’s knowledge of Johann’s route, Johann had most recently traded with the Northlanders and will be heading to the Northern Markets before heading to Berk. 

“...and the entire mast had been snapped in half! Oh, I’ve never seen Thor so angry! I bravely jumped aboard with the rope, looking around and calling out, but no one answered...”

Yeah, no, Hiccup can continue to tune Johann out for now. He really doesn’t need to hear about the damages that had been done to the ship — that ship’s probably fish feed by now anyways, if the mast is snapped in half. It’s useless, about as useless as he was to the tribe. 

“...and oh, how I wished I could have salvaged more of those crates before the ship went under!”

Then, a thought suddenly occurs to Hiccup. He feels bad for interrupting Johann’s story (okay, not really, but he feels a bit bad), but he needs to know. He asks, “Johann, where did you find me?”

“Why, you were not far at all from the Shivering Isles!” 

Against his better judgement, Hiccup sits up, doing his best not to sway too much. “That’s… not possible, Johann. How long ago was the storm?” How long was he out for?

“Why, it was just a day ago!”

There is no physical way he could have made it to the Shivering Isles by boat during a storm in the course of a day. Even in the most perfect conditions, the trip between Berk and the Shivering Isles takes at least a week for even the  _ Intercepter _ , the fastest ship in the Archipelago.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“How did it happen.”

The Chief’s statement is not a question — it’s a demand. He’s sitting at the head of the table, listening carefully to every word, every breath the people in front of him give out… with the constant knowledge that someone very important to him is missing from the group. Stoick the Vast wants to know why his only son is gone, and he will not rest until he finds out, even if he has to march across every island, sail across every sea, and storm through Valhalla itself and challenge all of the Gods one by one to find the boy. 

The group of teens in attendance knows it all too well. The entire island heard Stoick’s scream upon finding out the news, the kind of scream one can only make when they’ve lost everyone they’ve held dear to the demons that plague the island. Now, they’re all in the Great Hall, gathered together after a long day of searching both land and sea alike on Berk and in the island’s immediate area. Hiccup is still missing, and there’s not a single trace as to where he could be. Even if the boy had left some sort of marks during his undoubtedly turbulent departure, the storm had most likely washed them away before any eyes could notice them. 

“No one knows, sir,” Snotlout admitted, his voice almost timid with regret as he spoke. The Jorgenson’s act of bravery had faltered very quickly in front of the Chief after he announced that Hiccup was missing. Snotlout will never admit it to anyone because it’s very un-warrior-like for him to do certain things, but Stoick’s yell had frozen his blood and made him almost soil his pants. 

“Uh, sir?... There was a dragon raid right before the storm…” Fishlegs spoke up quietly, hesitantly. 

“No one’s seen Hiccup after it,” Astrid said, stating the thought no one wanted to say.

_Thud_. Stoick’s fist made contact with the table. The Chief rises from his seat, anger and determination clouding his eyes. “I want weapon production tripled and all builders to work double hours on ships. I want everyone preparing for battle! We _will_ find that nest, and we _will_ destroy _every_ _single beast_ that has ever even _thought_ of threatening my tribe and my family!”

A bit of noise forms in the Great Hall as people scurry off to follow their Chief’s orders. Gobber hung back, gaze locked into a staring contest of shame with the floor. It’s his fault, and he knows it. Alas, he also made a promise to the boy. He can’t tell Stoick that Hiccup ran away, no matter how badly he wants to. Instead, once enough people have left the Great Hall, he walks over to his Chief and speaks quietly, “uh, Stoick? Triplin’ weapon production may be a wee bit ‘ard…” 

Stoick turns to look at him with a cold gaze. “And why is that?”

“Well, Hiccup ‘ad been me apprentice, an’ now ‘e’s, well…”

Stoick looks away. Of course — Gobber had been close with the boy, too. The blacksmith was almost like an uncle to Hiccup, an attached part of the family, especially once Valka was taken by those damned scaly beasts. His voice is gentler as he speaks, but no less angry at the Gods and the demons, “Get th’ other teens to help you in the forge. They’re not ready to be out fighting, and that includes th’ Hofferson girl.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I cannot believe Stoick the Vast has been- all along... oh, when I travel back to Berk again-” Johann looked legitimately enraged upon hearing Hiccup’s explanation of why the heir ended up on a damaged ship in the middle of the seas. Hiccup hadn’t held back; he told Johann everything he never said before, ranging from the comments the other tribe members make to how he’s called “Hiccup the Useless” by his peers. Hiccup slipped in how his father never listens, how Hiccup has considered throwing himself off Raven Point several times but always found himself too scared of what comes at the end of the drop. 

“You won’t tell them a word of what I said. Actually, you won’t tell them anything at all. If they ask,  _ I was never here _ ,” Hiccup interrupted, “If they knew where I was, they’d try to drag me back home, and I don’t want that to happen. Just… let them think whatever they already think.”  

Johann sighs, but gives into the demands, giving a small bow for emphasis. “Of course, Master Hiccup. Your secret is absolutely at its safest with me.”

The boy cracks a small smile of relief, and for once, the smile is genuine. “Thank you, Johann.”

“Is there anything else I could do to help, besides dropping you off at the Northern Markets? I could contact one of my brothers in trade, get you some work and a place to stay. Or maybe I could arrange your own vessel for you, or at least some supplies!” 

Hiccup considers the offer. He cannot accept any gifts from the kind merchant who saved his life and has always been kind, but… “Actually, there is one favor you could do for me. Could you sneak in a secret delivery to Gobber?”

Johann’s eyes seemed to flash at the suggestion, his lips curving into a slight smirk. “Master Hiccup, believe it or not, I am the very soul of stealth.” He seems rather proud of this, but curiously, he doesn’t tell a tale about it. 

Having nothing else to do, Hiccup gazed at the horizon as the ship sailed towards the Northern Markets. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Forge work!?” Astrid yelled, insulted. “I won Dragon Training fair and square, and now I’m expected to do forge work!?”

“Honey, it’s the Chief’s orders, and we both know it’s for the best,” her mother reminded her. “Just think about what the dragons had done to Hiccup-”

Astrid cut off her mom’s words right there, saying defiantly, “and that’s exactly why I should be out there, fighting dragons! What if he’s still alive, Mom? What if the extra help is what makes the difference between finding him alive and finding his remains!?”

“Astrid Hofferson, you will  _ not _ raise your voice at your mother!” her father warned her, a dangerously sharp edge lining the tone of his voice as if it were a freshly sharpened blade. “You will do as your mother and as your Chief command, and that is  _ final _ .” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Forge werk? Stoick’s gone ba-shit mad! No Jorgenson’s gonna do forge werk when there’s drag’ns t’ kill!” Spitelout protested once he received the news.

Snotlout doesn’t say anything. He knows his dad is angry enough that Snotlout didn’t win dragon training. Disagreeing with him would only make it worse, and Snotlout has nothing in that statement to agree with. Perhaps normally, he would; however, the guilt proves to be an incredibly powerful emotion. He managed to hold together his act when he first found out, but after seeing how the Chief reacted, he couldn’t do it anymore. He couldn’t keep acting like he didn’t care. As annoying as the little toothpick was, they were still cousins. Besides, between Hiccup’s disappearance and the events during dragon training, maybe they weren’t ready to take on dragons yet after all. 

“Then why don’ ye tell tha’ t’ Stoick yerself, Spitelout?” Gobber fired back. 

Spitelout growls as his skin pales a shade. “ _ Fine _ . No’ like th’ boy’s useful fer much else anyways af’er ‘e failed  _ trainin’ _ .”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“...and working in the forge is good, right? I mean, we help the entire tribe find Hiccup indirectly, and…” Fishlegs fussed over the news, trying to see as much good in it as possible without making himself sound scared or selfish. Truth to be told, he prefers helping the forge than fighting. He’s no good at fighting. 

“Of course it’s good, Fishlegs,” his mother confirmed. With the Chief’s son missing, she’d rather take a Nadder spike to the heart than let her own gentle son anywhere near the battlefield. She thanks the gods for blessing her son with care and reason, two traits most vikings lack. Unlike Hiccup, her Fishlegs had not been itching to jump into battles. He preferred his books and his knowledge. 

At that moment, Fishlegs realizes something, panicking, “oh no! I know  _ nothing _ about working with metal! I have to find some books about it! There has to be  _ something _ I can learn before tomorrow morning!” 

The mother sighs, knowing that her son’s cycle of worrying is repeating itself. She simply does his best to support him, making a mental note to bake him some pie once she has some spare time. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gobber wanders to the Thorston household, trying to decide if he should recruit the twins or just let them do whatever instead of potentially blowing up his forge. Eh, he supposes it won’t hurt to try asking them. None of the teens are exactly suitable apprentices, and none of them have any training whatsoever. He’ll need to figure out useful but menial and non-dangerous tasks to do, ones that require no skill. 

As he approaches the house, he hears yelling from inside, along with crashes and slams and sobs. He hears a shriek of “Schleibeldorgan!” and quickly backs away from the hut. Well, it seems that the twins truly had taken to seeing Hiccup as a fellow spawn of Loki, for they’re mourning him as if he were one of their own. Gobber just walks away, wanting nothing to do with the strange and disturbing family ritual known as Schleibeldorg. He’s got enough new apprentices for now, anyways. 

Less destructive ones, too, in theory. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Thanks again, Johann,” Hiccup calls out, adjusting the hooded cape the merchant had let him take to conceal his identity. The bag of coin at his side is rather hefty and secured tightly to his belt. He has a dagger concealed under his vest as well, just in case.

“Not a problem, Master Hiccup. If you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to ask!” And with that, the merchant lifts his ship’s anchor and cuts the ropes keeping his vessel tied to the docks. He’s due to reach Berk soon, and he has plenty of goods ready for trading… along with a slight increase in prices. 

Hiccup sighs, turning away from the sea as Johann’s ship becomes nothing more than a dot against the vast open horizon. To the west, the sun is setting, turning the skies into magnificent shades of orange and red and purple. Hiccup walks back to the main market square of the Northern Markets. The supplies Johann had managed to salvage from Hiccup’s ship sold incredibly well, leaving Hiccup enough gold get by for some time. Of course, Hiccup has no doubt that Johann had also snuck some extra gold into the bag as well, but he didn’t have the proof nor the heart to confront the merchant about it. 

Hiccup buys himself some food, deciding it’s time to get in a meal. Having some time to himself, he realizes he’s a lot hungrier than he expected. He decides to eat out in the market. After all, why head indoors on such a beautiful night? There’s a gentle southern breeze, the temperature is warmer than usual, and he’s free. Somehow, by luck or by Fate, he got away from Berk and made it to the Northern Markets.

He frowns suddenly, realizing something. He never actually planned out what he’ll do once he gets here. He fully expected to die long before this, whether by dragon or by Outcast or by storm. Now that he’s here… it feels better than he expected, but also worse. He’s free, but he finds himself missing Berk. He misses the heat of the forge; he misses his father’s voice on the few nights when he is gentle; he misses seeing Astrid train; he misses occasionally talking to Fishlegs when no one else is around; he misses even the twins’ attempts to get him in on their nefarious schemes that would undoubtedly make Stoick decide to disown him for being a troublemaker; he misses-

His thoughts are cut short when there is a sudden, shrill screams from the nearby merchants. 

“Thieves!”

“Murderers!”

“Pirates!!”

Hiccup jumps to his feet in shock, hand on his dagger. He looks around and sees that filthy, crude, brutal men with long, curved swords have filled the marketplace. Their clothes look to be rags, their shoes with metal bottoms, their teeth full of rot. They threaten everyone — merchants, customers, passer-bys, children. If they don’t get what they want, they harm and kill. Several women get dragged off, their clothes already partially torn off. With the world falling apart around him, Hiccup knows he has to do  _ something _ . He looks around for a better weapon. A sword, an axe, anything that’s light enough for him to lift but has a reach that can match against a sword’s.

Suddenly, there’s a harsh pain in the back of his head. As his consciousness fades and his body crumples to the ground, Hiccup wonders why the hell Fate is obsessed with knocking him upside the head. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, I wrote this chapter way sooner than I expected, and it definitely ended up being longer than I planned. I have no regrets about leaving you all on that little cliffhanger at the end, though. *insert evil laugh here* 
> 
> Thank you for all of the kudos, bookmarks, and wonderful comments! (And as always, a special thanks to Fayolah for being my beta reader)


	4. Savage Seas

Hiccup woke up for what feels like the upteenth time with a headache. At this point, it’s starting to look like a fall from Raven Point would have been less painful and less of a hassle. He seems to be somewhere below deck on a ship, the air moist and reeking of mold. Unlike when he woke up on Johann’s ship, there’s no sunlight to blind him. This time, there’s no friendly merchant to tell him what happened. This time, there’s no one here to help him.

Memories from the events at the Northern Markets flood to the front of Hiccup’s mind. Looks like Hiccup’s misfortune has only become even more misfortunate. The boy is not deaf to the stories of what pirates do to their prisoners, be it skinning them alive or torturing them and then using them as ransom. Hiccup’s situation is particularly dangerous. He must hope that the pirates do not discover that he is the son of a viking chief, or else not only will he be put through unspeakable horrors but he’ll also get used as ransom, which will end in one of two scenarios: his father accepting the ransom and leaving Hiccup to even more shame than the boy previously faced, or Stoick refusing the ransom and letting the pirates do whatever cruel things they want to do to Hiccup. All in all, death by falling or even by being eaten by a dragon would have been greatly preferred. It’s a shame that the Night Fury he shot down didn’t finish him off. 

As he slowly manages to sit up, wincing when he touches the back of his head and finds that his hair is stuck thickly with congealed blood, he hears footsteps coming down the hall outside of his cell door. The glow of a torch gets brighter, and Hiccup shies away from his cell door, away from the light, hiding in the corner of his cell as best as he could and wishing he could camouflage with the darkness like a night fury. He silently prays to the gods, hoping, pleading that his identity isn’t discovered, that the pirates grant him a quick death instead of a long, drawn-out, shameful process.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“This is pointless,” Astrid seethed as she cut down a tree. Gobber had just sent them to the far side to the island to gather wood, as if hoping that none of them would realize he actually just wanted them working as far as possible from the forge so that they would not be able to blow up half of the building again. 

“Well, on the bright side, at least we’re helping, right?” Fishlegs suggested, trying to remain optimistic. 

“Helping? Helping would be getting ready to take the battle to the dragons, not cowering behind the adults!” Astrid yells, clearly possessing incredibly strong opinions on the topic. She rips her axe out of the wood it’s stuck in and throws it past Fishlegs, letting the blade embed itself into the tree Fishlegs had been chopping at. Naturally, Fishlegs scampered away with a whimper, terrified of the pissed-off axe-throwing Valkyrie. He ends up hiding behind the tree, praying to Thor. 

Astrid’s bad mood has only begun.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

An explosion shakes the entire ship. 

Suddenly, the torch and footsteps approaching Hiccup’s cell stop, then retreat. Hiccup breathes a sigh of relief — whatever is going on above deck can’t be worse than already being captured by pirates, right? Oh Thor, Hiccup sincerely hopes that he hadn’t just jinxed himself… 

There’s more explosions, rocking the ship violently. Hiccup gets thrown around in his dirty, damp, desolate cell. Then, after one of the explosions, the door to his cell falls off of its hinges. It makes a lot of racket, but given the fact that the ship is being attacked from the outside, Hiccup highly doubts that anyone noticed. As Hiccup gets to his feet, he notices that his clothes had been replaced with rags, and the money Johann had given him was gone. Looks like the pirates looted him and didn’t recognize him after all. Although he mourns the loss of his proper clothing, he’s thankful for the chance to escape this cell.

He exits into the hall, making a face of disgust as his bare foot — of course the pirates took his shoes as well — steps in something gooey. He just hopes he never has to find out what that was as he continues on, even if in the back of his head he knows that he had probably stepped in shit or something equally disgusting. He makes his way up onto the deck, which he finds to be a warzone between pirates and some other warriors of some sort. The warriors have an emblem that looks like a flaming fist. It’s not anyone Hiccup knows, which is good and bad. Hiccup sneaks through the battle, dodging weapons and blows, and then makes a crazy move: he climbs across the planks leading to the other, non-pirate ship, sneaking aboard while everyone is busy fighting. 

Upon reaching the other deck, he quickly hides himself in a crate, thanking the gods that his tiny body size finally became useful for something. He tries to quiet his breathing and slow his heart’s pounding. Now all he has to do is keep quiet until they reach the next port and sneak off of the ship. Probably easier said than done, but he prefers this over being captured and held prisoner by pirates any day. After all, he’s Hiccup the Useless, so mediocre that he’s practically invisible, right?

Outside of his little safe haven of a crate, Hiccup hears the sounds of battle die down. He can’t help but wonder who won; he can’t help but hope that the weird warriors or whoever they were won. At least they probably won’t ransom him off, right? Worst-case scenario, if these warriors have any heart at all, he’ll get dumped off at the nearest port with a few yells, which is marginally better than his fate if the pirates win and discover him. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Stoick climbs up the stairs to Gothi’s hut. If he looked terrible last night, when he and the others finally arrived from that botched mission to find the dragons’ nest, then today he looks like the gods had dragged him through all forms of hell and back, without a single break or mercy. He clearly hadn’t slept; he clearly hadn’t rested. How could he? His only son is missing, probably taken by the very same demons that had stolen away his wife and many others from his tribe. 

The village elder had been expecting him to come. The door to her hut is open, and while the small old lady herself is missing, there is some sort of letter on the table, written in Gobber’s sloppy handwriting and addressed to the chief. Stoick reads the letter to himself quietly, mentally fixing Gobber’s mistakes as he reads, “Stoick, Gothi had to leave to handle a poisoning on the other side of the island, but she refused to go until I wrote this letter. She said she had a vision from the Gods, and that it must be recorded immediately before it fades.”

Stoick pauses his reading there, thinking. A vision from the Gods? That is an incredibly rare event, especially recently. The Gods have been rather quiet the past few decades. Why open up the connection to the mortal world now? Nevertheless, he continues reading, “She did not seem happy with ye, I’ll say that now. Her vision told her that…” here, Stoick trails off, unable to read the next sentence. His eyes widen, breath hitching in his lungs in shock. No.  _ No _ . This… this can’t be true!

Stoick’s hand is shaking as he sets the letter down, stepping away from it. Visibly shaken, he leaves the elder’s house, heading to his own home. Can he call it a home anymore? His son is gone. The building means very little to him now… although he will  _ not _ let it fall to waste. He wants everything in the house to remain  _ exactly _ as it is, exactly as Hiccup had left it. 

Stoick wants the boy to have a home to return to if they find him alive. 

As he walks, the ending of the letter is forever etched into his mind, just like the words Snotlout said that turned Stoick’s entire life around. He remembers Gobber’s messy handwriting exactly, and despite the man’s common writing mistakes, there is no mistaking the words that had flowed on that page like the current of death. Gothi would have made sure that Gobber wrote down everything exactly, especially in a serious matter such as this. 

_ “Her vision told her that our little Hiccup had sought out death willingly.” _

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Well well, who do we have here?”

An hour later, Hiccup discovers that the Gods still don’t like him. At some point, the top of the crate he’d been hiding in had been ripped off, letting the sun’s blinding rays hit Hiccup’s fragile, unadjusted eyes. Against the harsh rays, Hiccup can see the silhouette of a rather tall and muscular bald man standing in front of the crate, staring down at him with a malicious smirk. 

“Wait, please, it isn’t what it looks like!” Hiccup pleads, his voice wavering with fear. The silhouette in front of him looks like it could snap Hiccup with no effort. Is this even a man, or had Hiccup accidentally offended the Gods themselves and caused them to come down to the mortal world in order to make him pay?

The bald man simply laughs, almost mockingly, saying, “oh yeah? Ye can tell me all about it once ye’r in a cell.”

“Okay, fine, I’ll go to a cell, just  _ please _ let me explain before you do anything to me!” Hiccup’s words are frantic. One can only take so many near-death experiences before beginning to crack, and Hiccup’s young age is truly beginning to show. 

“Get up,” the silhouette commanded. 

Easier said than done, of course — some of Hiccup’s limbs had fallen asleep due to his awkward position in the cramped crate, but after a few moments, he’s standing in front of the bald man. With his eyes adjusting, Hiccup can see that the bald man is definitely muscular and strong, more than likely strong enough to knock the boy out with a single punch. Even if the boy tried to run, he wouldn’t get very far, for the entire deck of the ship is filled with men. 

As he stands, Hiccup keeps his head down in shame and surrender. 

The man doesn’t even bother tying Hiccup’s hands, instead taking a sword off of his back and keeping it ready in his hand, just in case. He leads the boy below deck and towards a cell. The conditions are far better here than on the pirate ship. There’s no shit on the floor, the cell bars and door are clearly new and well-crafted, the locks are far more complex and thus harder to lockpick, and of course the entire hallway is lined with plenty of guards. Hiccup’s eye is caught by the type of metal used to create the cell bars and doors; he hasn’t seen such a metal before. It’s green-blue in color, and must have rather impressive properties if these people are using it in place of iron or steel. 

A cell is opened, and Hiccup gets pushed in, making the boy stumble slightly. The bald man sheaths his sword as the cell door closes, locking Hiccup in. The boy keeps his eyes glued to the floor, opting to sit down on the ground, keeping his legs straight in front of him as he sits. Gods, can his situation get any worse? Hiccup finds himself silently musing on everything that had happened recently, wondering if it’s fortune or misfortune that led to him surviving all of his experiences thus far. 

A sudden clang against his cell door makes him look up. The bald man is still there, and he had slammed his fist against the metal. He looks rather annoyed as he says, “well, you’re in your cell now. So talk.”

Hiccup’s mind blanks slightly. “I, uh… I was just… y’know, helping my uncle in the markets… he’s a trader, and uh… I was eating supper alone after a long day, and next thing I know, pirates start attacking. They knock me out and drag me to their ship, and when I wake up, I escape at the first chance I get, and I end up here.” Hiccup hopes his tale sounds convincing enough — he tried to base it as much as possible on the truth, without giving away his identity as the heir of one of the tribes. It’s too risky. Then, he adds a plea, for emphasis, “please, I’m not a thief and I mean you no harm. I just want to…” He trails off for a moment, before saying the words he didn’t expect to be saying so soon into his journey.

“...I just want to go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, this is where my update schedule begins to go out of whack. No worries, though -- I'll try and update as often as I can, even if that may not be as often as I'd like. 
> 
> Anyways, what'd you guys think? Was there any specific moment that really stood out to you? And what are your theories about some of the characters we've met so far, such as Johann? What do you think will happen next? I love hearing what you guys have to say, and I try to respond to comments whenever I can.


	5. Chapter 5

The bald man had left almost immediately after Hiccup’s small breakdown, not seeming to care much for the boy’s story. Hiccup felt rather heartbroken at that — looks like his fate is in the hands of whatever tribe these men belong to, and something in the back of his mind warns him that the bald man may just be their chief. 

Hiccup ended up sitting in the corner of his cell. Unlike the pirate ship’s cell, he actually had a makeshift bed here. While it’s nothing compared to a real bed, it’s far better than sleeping on the floor. He now sat on the edge, deep in thought. Should he or should he not reveal his identity as a heir? On one hand, it may command some respect. Hiccup doesn’t recognize this tribe, meaning that they likely are not among Berk’s immediate enemies. However, there is also the chance that they may be an implicit enemy, or not vikings at all. They could be barbarians, even if the order among them seems to point otherwise. 

He’s tired. His head hurts. His body refuses to cooperate. He ends up laying down on the bed, the waves gently swaying the ship as it sails smoothly. For a few moments, he feels like a young child, like a baby that had just been outside when a dragon raid suddenly started and then had been suddenly brought into the house and laid into his crib by his mother. Maybe this time, a giant dragon won’t swoop in and steal the mother away.

* * *

 

“...and we got you the wood from the  _ far _ side of the island, just as you asked,” Astrid listed off the teens’ accomplishments for the day to the blacksmith, silently seething in anger. “Now can we go train?”

“Well, tha’ woul’ be defyin’ th’ Chief’s orders…” Gobber contemplates it. He knows that Astrid Hofferson will likely not be easy to keep from training. Considering the amount of work Stoick had left for him and the fact that Gobber no longer has a trained apprentice to help him out, the blacksmith cannot possibly hope to keep track of all of the teens the entire time. Perhaps it is better to just let them go, so that he’s not the one responsible for them. It’s not a solution he wants, but it’s a solution he may have to go with, given his situation. “I’ll jus’ say tha’ yer work here’s done fo’ today. Wha’ ye do wi’ th’ rest o’ yer time is none o’ me business.”

That was satisfactory enough for Astrid. She didn’t even say goodbye before practically disappearing, heading towards the arena. She and her axe have a small date to attend to. 

Fishlegs sticks around. With Astrid (the main person who hates helping the forge and would rather fight) gone, he quietly asks Gobber for some lessons in basic forge stuff. He knows he likely wouldn’t be worth much on the field of battle anyways, so he could help in the forge instead, right? Or… or maybe he should go find Gothi, ask her for an apprenticeship as a healer. I mean, it would fit his character, right? Ingermans care for and help others, that’s what they’re known for… right? 

Snotlout doesn’t leave, not immediately at least. He’s… conflicted. After failing dragon training and with Stoick’s order for the teens to work in the forge, his father is not someone Snotlout wants to be around at the moment. Spitelout has been making the boy feel weak, unappreciated, unimportant… useless. Gods, is this how his cousin felt? Snotlout actually feels bad for the boy, standing in his shoes now. If it were him who was the village fuck-up and constantly feeling like this, he would have long since jumped off of— 

Without a single word, Snotlout suddenly breaks out into a sprint.

* * *

 

Hiccup wakes up, once more, to find himself in unfamiliar surroundings. 

He’s no longer in the cell he had fallen asleep in. In fact, he probably isn’t on a ship at all. There’s no gentle swaying, the wooden floor had been replaced by dirt, and the walls are stone instead of wood. There’s light out in the hall from torches, but that’s not the only source of brightness. An odd lamp hangs from the ceiling of the cell, out of his reach. 

The bed he’s on is also much more comfortable than the bed he had fallen asleep on. This is a real bed, and frankly, it’s comfortable enough to where he doesn’t want to leave it. The door to his cell could be wide open and he probably wouldn’t even bother trying to escape this small comfortable haven. Someone had even taken the liberty of throwing a pelt over him, for which he is incredibly thankful since the rags the pirates had dressed him in are incredibly horrible at keeping heat in and the dungeon is rather cold otherwise. Yeah, he probably wouldn’t leave this bed if the Gods themselves had appeared and told him he’d be a better viking if he left it. 

As he shifts slightly, a voice from outside his cell comments, “oh, hey. You’re awake.” When Hiccup looks to the source of the voice, he sees that it’s a teenager, maybe a bit older than himself. He’s armed and has armor with that weird symbol on it, but unlike everyone else Hiccup has met so far, he doesn’t seem too hostile. The guard’s helmet covers most of his head, but there’s some black hair peeking out from under it anyways. He’s not the most muscular of vikings, but he’s definitely more on the lean side than on the toothpick side. 

“Uh, yeah…” Hiccup says awkwardly, sitting up and wrapping the pelt around himself.

“How are you feeling?”

“F-fine,” Hiccup stuttered slightly, caught off-guard by the question. 

“That’s good. I saw you shivering when you were brought in, so I brought you a pelt.” 

“Why?” The question tumbles past Hiccup’s lips before he could stop it. “I mean, not that I’m complaining, but-”

“-Why bother caring for a prisoner?” The guard finishes. Upon receiving a small nod of confirmation from Hiccup, he continues, “You’re, what, maybe thirteen years old?”

“Fifteen,” Hiccup corrected instinctively, then almost wished he hadn’t. What if he’s no longer treated so nicely anymore?

Thankfully, the guard just waves it off, continuing, “point is, you’re young, younger than me even, and I’m only seventeen. I couldn’t imagine what it’s like, being in your shoes.”

“So you pity me.”

The guard shakes his head, “I wouldn’t call it pity. Maybe empathy, or compassion.” At that moment, a horn sounds, and the guard sighs. “Sorry, it’s time for a shift change. I have to go — see you tomorrow, probably.” He walks over to Hiccup’s cell door and slips something in through the bars before leaving. 

Hiccup groans, but he gets up and slips over to pick up what the guard left him. It’s a small parcel, wrapped in parchment. Hiccup holds it close to him as he goes back to his bed. He lays down, keeping the parcel hidden beneath the pelt he covers himself with. He watches as the young guard’s spot is taken by an older guard. This older guard is bulky and reeks of booze. It takes no more than ten minutes for the guard to sit down on the floor and doze off. Hiccup makes a mental note to thank the teenage guard if he ever sees him again. He wiggles under his covers, going out of sight, and carefully opens the small parcel.

The smell of food hits Hiccup like a roof’s worth of bricks. Between being knocked out and locked away several times, he has forgotten how hungry he is, and the cooked porkchop in the parcel looks extremely appetizing. It’s even still warm! Needless to say, Hiccup inhales half of it without a second thought, but once he regains some of his senses, he decides to ration the rest for some time, at least until the young guard returns again. Hiccup doesn’t even consider the possibility that the food could have been poisoned or anything, for even if it was poisoned, he probably still would have ate it. 

After he finishes eating for now, he wraps up what’s left of the porkchop and hides it next to him. He decides to rest a bit more, his stomach now satisfied.

* * *

 

Runts are always a confusing matter.

Most often, they are perceived to be the “weak link” in a tribe, and everyone knows that having a weak link causes a crack, a crack that can spread and break apart the entire whole — or, in this case, the entire tribe. Such a weak link is nothing but a flaw, a fatal flaw; a fatal flaw that any and all enemies of the tribe can and will exploit. Most flaws can be hidden; a runt cannot be. 

Runts can be recognized immediately after birth: small, fragile, weak. They typically leave the womb early, but not always. They are a mistake, someone the Gods did not consider worthy. In many cases, whether by the decree of the village elder, the chief, or the parents themselves, runts are disposed of before they can grow into becoming a problem. When such a thing happens on Berk, the baby is washed, clothed, put into a wooden box that’s lined with pillows, and then set adrift. Other tribes have their own methods of doing this; many resemble Berk’s, but not all. For example, in the past, Berserkers have sacrificed their runts to the skrill dragon, whereas the Bog Burglars made the baby pass through a series of trials. If the baby survived, then it was born not a runt but Loki’s spawn and was instead revered, hailed as a natural thief. Such is the way Camicazi, Chief Big-Boobied Bertha’s own daughter, came into this world. Needless to say, the girl lives up to her reputation. 

At the start of his Chiefing career, Stoick had cared little for runts. He left those decisions up to the parents of the babe and the Elder. However, when he heard that his long-time friend had given birth to a potential runt, he sailed to the Bog-Burglar islands personally as fast as the winds could carry him and his ship. He had watched the little baby girl crawl through the trials unharmed, coming out with a little shiny gold nugget in her wee little hand. The cheers had been deafening, and Stoick was certain his voice had been hoarse for several days afterwards. His friend had given birth to a chosen of the Gods, not a runt! Even Berk celebrated their ally’s fortune when Stoick came back and informed the tribe. 

With all of the other tribes having strong or Gods-chosen heirs, Stoick could seldom contain his excitement when he discovered that his own wife was pregnant. For all intents and purposes, Valka could have been mistaken for the great goddess Freyja herself with how she was being treated by the tribe. She certainly had the beauty for it, and the protective motherly attitude. Everything had seemed to be going perfectly with her and the pregnancy, really. A few other pregnant women in the tribe were practically jealous of how perfect Valka’s pregnancy was — no surprises like twins, no incredibly difficult morning sickness, very little times that she threw something at Stoick (and it was usually non-threatening things, like pillows. The Hofferson household, by contrast, had to deal with a knife- and axe-throwing woman.)

Then came the horror. 

It was at some point in Valka’s seventh month of pregnancy, near the end of the month if memory serves correctly. A terrible raid had began out of nowhere. Dragons were everywhere, burning every building in sight. It was the worst raid Stoick has never seen. Later in his life, he’d compare it to the armored dragons that had committed the massacre of several chiefs at the hands of an evil madman that Stoick will never forget. 

Most of the non-warriors had taken refuge in the Great Hall that night. The elderly, mothers, and children were given priority, while the rest of the tribe fought to defend at least the Great Hall. Stoick does not think there was ever a day in his life where he had fought harder than on that night. He had Spitelout Jorgenson and Fearless Finn Hofferson at his sides, and he had sent his trusted right-hand man Gobber to care for his beautiful Valka. It was a battle unlike any other as Berk’s three most powerful warriors from its three most powerful clans took their stand at the entrance to the Great Hall, fighting off any beasts that got close.

Then, he heard it. A shrill screech, unlike anything he has ever heard from any dragon. It was fast, faster than anything he’d ever seen. Stoick had only caught a glimpse of a black blur before there was a flash of blue and an incredible explosion. The black blur didn’t attack again, but that one blast… once the smoke cleared, the dragons flew at the Great Hall’s doors with a newfound vigor. The blast had forced open the large doors, and the beasts invaded the hall through the opening. 

That’s when the screaming began.

Stoick remembers little of the fight and chaos that followed. It took hours to get the beasts to leave, and even once they did, there was not a single spot on Berk that had been left untouched. The sun was already starting to peek out in the East, and Stoick was ready to swing his axe into the next person that disrupted him. That proved to be Gobber, but Stoick didn’t swing an axe at him because Gobber looked very pale and terrified, both of which are uncommon for the blacksmith. Combined with the fact that he had been looking after Valka? Well, Stoick needed to know what happened. And Gobber’s next words broke Stoick’s heart— the baby was coming early. 

To Stoick’s utter fear, the baby was small, fragile, weak. Stoick was at a loss. All of the other chiefs had perfectly fine children… except for him. If a weak link is a fatal flaw, then a weak chief is a grave. Who has ever heard of a runt being a heir, much less a future chief? It’s not possible, it makes no sense. Have the gods truly forsaken him? Alas, Valka looked ready to kill Stoick if he even as much as suggested that they cast the boy away. She wanted the boy to have a chance at surviving, to have a chance at life…

Stoick had chosen to consult the village elder.

Needless to say, Gothi looked ready to kill him with her staff when he began speaking of potentially casting the baby away. 

And so, the decision had been made to keep Hiccup… a decision Stoick found himself often wondering about. Was it right to keep alive a boy who had no chances of becoming great? When Valka disappeared, the answer became a firm “yes” — Stoick refused to let go of the last thing keeping him tied to his lost wife. He swore to protect the boy from all danger, to help the boy grow into a man capable of handling himself.

And he failed. Miserably. No, he didn’t fail. He did far worse than simply failing. If it’s true what Gothi saw, that his own son had sought out death, then the only person Stoick has to blame for it is himself.

Up above him, the night sky mocks him with its twinkling stars.

* * *

 

As Hiccup rests in the bed, he overhears a few guards talking down the hall. 

“...about the young skinny one?”

“Ryker said the boy ain’t worth much to us.”

“Then why are we keeping him around?”

Well, looks like Hiccup’s peaceful rest time is coming to an end. Hiccup decides to make some quick moves. He quickly eats the rest of his porkchop, uncertain when’s the next time he’ll manage to get food if all goes well. The paper the food was wrapped in is still soaked in a bit of grease, making it slippery. As long as none of the guards are looking, perhaps he could use it to his advantage so he could escape his cell. He looks around the room, seeing what else he could use. A plan forms in his mind. 

Hiccup bides his time until the horn that signals the shift change sounds again. The guard leaves from the front of his cell, and Hiccup knows he only has one chance and a few minutes. He starts by using some of the grease on the paper to make sure the hinges of the cell door won’t squeak terribly. Then, he uses his bed to get to the lamp that hangs from the ceiling, pulling it down. To his shock, he finds not a candle inside of it, but a tiny dragon. A fireworm. He shakes off his shock, though — he can’t waste any time. Besides, maybe this will work out even better. He transports the lantern over to the cell door. He places the greasy paper on the lock and then puts the fireworm dragon on the paper. 

The paper flames up in seconds. The intense heat from the fireworm makes Hiccup’s escape even easier, for it actually just melts the lock on the cell door. Hiccup moves the pelt on the bed so that it looks like he’s hiding under it before opening the cell door slightly. Thankfully, the grease kept it from squeaking too loudly. He gets the fireworm back into the lamp and leaves it on the floor before he slips out, making it look like the lamp fell. Then he moves the cell door back into position so that it seems that it’s still locked. Once that is done, he sticks to the shadows, sneaking away. 

A bit of sneaking, a bit of dodging, and a bit of exploiting his small size leads to him finally seeing the sky once more. He climbs out of the small hatch he managed to find in one of the storage rooms, looking around. The air is rather crisp, and there’s a cool breeze. Up above him, the stars are twinkling, as if welcoming his return to their kingdom. The rags he’s wearing in place of clothes make tonight feel especially cold, but that doesn’t bother him as much as it should. He got away! Now he just needs to find a boat and-

He hears footsteps behind him, and next thing he knows, he feels a prick on the back of his shoulder. His vision blurs, and a cry of pain gets caught in his throat. He falls to the ground, unable to move. His body lays there, paralyzed, as the footsteps approach him. His breathing has quickened with fear, his heart pounding. He was close, so close! He was almost free, he almost got away, he almost could have gone anywhere, even home!

A foot shoves itself into the side of Hiccup’s ribs, and Hiccup is rolled over with a small kick. Had it not been for the paralysis, Hiccup would have probably cried out. His eyes lock their gaze onto the sky, knowing well that this may just be the last time he ever sees the stars again. Alas, the gaze is interrupted by a silhouette stepping closer and leaning over him. Dark brown eyes are the last thing Hiccup sees before the stinger in his arm takes its full effect and unconsciousness claims him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ended up being longer than I expected it to be. I didn't expect to delve so deeply into Stoick and his thoughts and flashback, but, well... it happened. Anyways, Hiccup almost got away. Almost. 
> 
> Let me know what you guys think! It's been a long chapter, and there's definitely a lot of important things happening. The next chapter should be up in 2 or 3 days as well, but I make no promises there. As always, kudos and bookmarks are appreciated, and comments are especially welcome! I love interacting with you guys, and it's interesting to see what you guys have to say about my story.


	6. Bound By Blood

Being a guard isn’t so bad. It means less expeditions, less strict expectations, more nights to sleep at home, more nights to drink mead with old friends, and more time to spend with the family. It’s a pretty nice deal for most, and the pay is good enough to maintain a household of three or four. It’s nothing grand like the pay of those who go off on the hunting expeditions, but it’s a much safer job, for there’s a smaller chance of getting killed by a dragon. All in all, it’s a good enough tradeoff to where most people in the tribe who consider themselves family men end up joining the island’s guard. Alas, sometimes something big does happen, and when it does, it’s usually enough to get the attention of the tribe’s chief. Well, chiefs, technically. Plural, for both brothers are well-respected, and if they want someone dead, that person will be dead.

Such is the situation Hadav found himself in. He used to work directly under the brothers and go on hunting expeditions. He used to swear, drink, and fight like any proper man. Those days came to and end rather recently, however, when his beautiful Sylvia was born. He quit drinking and going on hunting expeditions the moment he discovered his wife was pregnant with his child, preparing himself to be a father. Turns out, he did pretty well with that, and because he was no longer spending money on mead and other things, the household income continued to support them. Now, the little girl is two and growing rapidly. She’ll make a fine warrior indeed when she grows up.

His shift was right after Nazeem’s, which is not his preferred choice. Nazeem is a dirty drunkard who falls asleep during most of his shifts so that he can later go around the village boasting with a stick up his ass. Alas, it is what it is, and Hadav settles in his spot, leaning against the wall and careful to not step into a suspicious-looking puddle on the floor that reeks of piss, which it probably is. Just a few more hours and he’ll be able to go home again to his wife and daughter… 

A yawn escapes the guard, and he shakes his head, trying to shake off the sleep. He looks around, trying to find something to entertain himself with so that he doesn’t fall asleep. In doing so, he notices something peculiar — it seems that the lamp in one of the cells had fallen down to the ground, thankfully not breaking. He could not imagine the chaos that would have broken out if a fireworm was loose, even if part of him may wish that the fireworm had gotten loose and crawled down Nazeem’s pants. 

He’s about to just chuck it off as a mental note to get it fixed later, but then he notices something. The bed looks a bit odd, almost as if the person in the cell is hiding under a pelt. It’s suspicious enough for him to walk over to the cell. He leans against the bars on the cell door… and the door swings open effortlessly, silently. Hadav feels his heartbeat quicken. No, this can’t be. This isn’t his fault; Nazeem must have not noticed a prisoner somehow slip away! And yet, he knows that the brothers will not listen to his reasoning, especially the elder of the two. Hadav walks over to the bed, lifting the pelt just to be certain. Dread bubbles in his stomach, leaving him feeling sick as he announces:

“A prisoner has escaped!”

* * *

It’s said that brothers know each other better than anyone else knows them. Oftentimes, that holds true: they know what’s best for one another, and what will inevitably end up harming them. They know each other’s successes and failures, strengths and weaknesses, desires and plans. Ryker found this to be true for himself and Viggo most of the time. Alas, there was one problem — sometimes, he had no clue what in the name of Thor was going on in his brother’s mind.

If it had been up to him, their little escaping guest would have been shot through the heart. But no, Viggo wants him alive, apparently, even though previously the younger brother had shown absolutely no concern whatsoever when Ryker reported that a runt of a child had been sneaking on his ship. At that point, Ryker had chosen to not get involved, letting Viggo have the shot with the dart once the boy was spotted. It’s a moment when Ryker questions his brother’s sanity; the boy has escaped once already. Who’s to say he won’t escape again?

He lets Viggo handle the boy’s limp body. Not that it’s any sort of problem; the boy is small and light, probably lighter than most dragon hatchlings. Ryker gets tasked with other work, such as gathering up all of the guards that had shifts in the area of the boy’s cell since the boy’s arrival. Viggo wants to know exactly how such a scrawny little boy managed to escape right under the noses of his men. Ryker accepts the tasks, of course. 

Sometimes, being a brother means resisting the urge to sock your own flesh and blood when they’re acting bratty. 

* * *

Snotlout can’t remember the last time he ran this hard and this fast for so long. His lungs are screaming for air, his legs begging for a break, but he refuses to stop. Deep down, he knows that if Hiccup had jumped off Raven’s Point when he disappeared, then he’s probably long dead by now. And yet, Snotlout can’t help but hope Hiccup is alive. I mean, Hiccup fails at almost everything, right? Why would dying be any different?

That mental comment does absolutely nothing to cheer him up.

The Jorgenson kept running around, looking for anything that might be a clue. So what if his father doesn’t like it? Snotlout isn’t seeing him doing anything to help! Well, besides helping the chief… which he supposes is somewhat helping look for Hiccup. Still, his dad isn’t out  _ here _ , looking for Hiccup in the location the little runt probably is. Thor, not even the Chief himself is out here looking. Did they really not figure out what even Snotlout had realized, or had they figured it out and chosen to ignore it for whatever reason? Ugh, people are so confusing at times. 

Snotlout makes his rounds below Raven’s Point first. I mean, if Hiccup jumped off, he obviously would be at the bottom and not at the top. Even Snotlout is capable of reasoning that out. It’s only once he’s certain there’s no trace of Hiccup or Hiccup’s body below Raven’s Point that Snotlout goes around, heading up to Raven’s Point. Maybe a view from above will help him see something he missed? Snotlout picks up his pace as he runs -- the sun is almost completely gone from the sky, and he does not want to be stuck out in the forest in the dead of night. Who knows what sort of ugly beasts roam the forest after dark? Snotlout values his life enough to know he doesn’t want to get caught and eaten by a wild dragon because he was out doing something stupid like looking for his cousin. 

By the time he reaches the top, it’s completely dark, and any further searching is useless without a torch. Snotlout growls to himself in anger, “I’ll come back and search again in the morning.” He looks to the skies, making a promise to the stars, “I’ll find you, cousin.” Then he adds an extra part, one he doesn’t mean but that he says just in case anyone is listening with the intent of trying to ruin his reputation, “I’ll find you and drag you back to the village by your underwear.”

The stars seem to twinkle in response, and a silhouette flies against the stars, making it seem like the stars blinked. Snotlout isn’t stupid, though. He screams before sprinting back to the village. He doesn’t want to be eaten by a wild dragon!

He sneaks into his house and falls into bed as soon as he physically can. Exhaustion claims him as its own, pulling away his consciousness and abandoning him in the realm of the living dead, where his own thoughts become events. That night, Snotlout does not sleep well, his dreams haunted by his cousin and the dragon silhouette he had glimpsed against the stars. 

* * *

Upon coming home from his shift, Hadav collapsed to his knees to thank the gods. The moment that Ryker informed him and several others that Viggo himself wanted to talk to the guards who had been on duty near that cell, he had truly thought he wouldn’t live to see his little girl again. 

Being stared down by both chiefs as he, Nazeem, and Oscar examined the scene had been an experience he never wants to repeat. They had to examine how the prisoner escaped and give the Grimborns a decisive, certain answer. Some parts of the explanation were easy, such as how the boy managed to melt the lock. However, other aspects, like the lack of a creaking sound when the door was opened, were much more difficult to determine. It had been then that young Oscar took the blame, admitting to how he had given the prisoner a pelt and a cooked porkchop that had been wrapped in paper. A leftover from his lunch, Oscar claimed -- which is more than possible, given how small and skinny the boy is. He never eats much.

Upon Oscar’s admittal, drunk Nazeem had attacked the boy… and got put down by Ryker Grimborn almost immediately, at Viggo’s command of course. Seeing Nazeem knocked unconscious and perhaps even killed (Ryker is incredibly strong) had made Hadav fear for his life like never before. The fear was only magnified when Viggo personally addressed Hadav, asking the guard if he had anything to do with this. Hadav’s mouth felt dry, but he answered the honest but likely hard to believe answer of no.

Then he was given permission to return home. 

Which he did immediately, thanking the gods. He went to his wife and daughter, shaken but glad to just be back home with them. He does not tell them what happened, but given that it was a case where Viggo himself investigated, half the tribe will know by tomorrow and the entire tribe will know the day after that. Hadav can only hope that Oscar is forgiven, too. The boy is a bit odd at times, but he’s a good kid.

* * *

Viggo Grimborn sat in his office, reading reports. All of them were dull as always, of course -- the one truly interesting one he’s waiting for is still on its way. He trusts that it will come in a timely manner, however. Mason has yet to fail him.

As if right on cue, a twenty-some year old man stumbles into Viggo’s office, clearly out of breath. Viggo raises his head, looking the man over. He speaks first, his voice hard and authoritative despite the gentler nature of his command, “catch your breath before reporting.”

The young man, Mason, leans against a wall, letting his body calm down. It’s hard to say if Viggo said that out of legitimate concern or if it was out of simply not wanting to have to listen to Mason’s gasping during the report, although he assumes it’s the latter. His job pays well and he enjoys it thoroughly, but doing laps around the island to gather information can be exhausting, especially when Viggo places insanely tight time constraints on him. Soon, his heart rate slows and his breathing becomes less jagged. Once he’s ready, he pushes himself away from the wall, clearing his throat. He makes eye contact with Viggo while reporting and maintains it, something few people have the courage to do. He reports, “the boy is not one of ours, nor do any of your men know anything about him. I sent word to our eyes on the sea, however, and await a response in the upcoming days.” Mason then adds, “It’s a temporary setback, nothing more. I will find out who he is and deliver the information as soon as possible.” 

“I expect nothing less from you, Mason.”

Mason bows slightly, in gratitude for his failure to find immediate information being overlooked and in acknowledgement of the rare compliment he had been given. “Thank you, sir.”

“Dismissed,” Viggo says, looking back down to his more boring reports. It’s a pity that there was no immediate information available about the young boy who has already piqued Viggo’s curiosity, but it does not matter. Viggo’s plan will work without it, at least for now. There’s no telling for how long it will work without outside information, but work it shall. After all, what better way to get information than to ask the boy himself once he awakens? 

* * *

If Hiccup had one piece of gold for every time he woke up in an unfamiliar situation, then given the trend over the past few days, he’d be a rich man. He shifts slightly, then immediately regrets it as an intense pain spreads like fire from his shoulder. He bites back a cry, but a small gasp still escapes him. His head feels groggy, like he just got tricked into drinking a pint of mead by his cousin again. The gentle veil of sleep still hovers over his mind, making focusing on any one thing impossible. He’s defenseless, like a newborn baby again. 

“Easy, don’t move around too much yet.” That voice. Why does it seem familiar? It’s not his dad’s, it’s not Gobber’s, it’s not Johann’s… whose is it? It takes Hiccup a rather long time to realize that it’s the same voice as the one of the young guard who had given him the porkchop. 

At that thought, memories of last night begin to flood back: the food, the guards’ comments, the fireworm lamp, the escape, the stars, the brown eyes. No, nonononono. He can’t stay here. Didn’t the guards want to get rid of him because he’s useless as ever? He won’t let them; he needs to get away, he needs to escape, he needs to go home. Why did he ever think that leaving Berk was a good idea? At least on Berk no one was trying to kill him… well, besides the dragons, but given his experiences with that night fury on Raven’s Point, even that’s questionable. He starts squirming, trying to get up, to sit up, despite the pain that just gets worse and worse every time he moves.

“Hey, easy,” the voice is a bit stricter now, and a hand places itself gently but firmly on Hiccup’s uninjured shoulder, keeping the boy down. “Don’t move. You’re still under the effects of the sedative; your body won’t respond properly to your commands yet.”

Hiccup doesn’t have much choice but to listen. Once his eyes adjust a bit and his vision becomes less fuzzy, he looks around as much as he can. He sees the young guard sitting on the edge of the bed, keeping a hand on his shoulder. The guard is no longer wearing a mask, revealing kind, dark eyes and hair black as the night sky. He definitely looks young; at most, he’s maybe a few years Hiccup’s senior, but not by too much. His skin is mostly free of  any major scarring besides a long scar line running across his neck, as it someone had tried to decapitate him or slit his throat. 

“Get some more rest — the best way to get through this is to sleep it off. Trust me, I know from personal experience.” The guard shifts, putting one of his legs on the bed and leaning his back against the headboard. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Perhaps that shouldn’t have reassured Hiccup, but it did. This guy was a total stranger, and yet he had been nicer to Hiccup than anyone else the boy had ever met, besides maybe Johann and Gobber. Yeah, maybe Hiccup can trust him a bit, at least in return for the pelt, the cooked porkchop, and the tools needed for him to (almost) escape. Hiccup found himself closing his eyes, letting sleep reclaim him. As he falls asleep, he thinks he hears someone humming… although that’s probably just his imagination.

* * *

That night, Gobber was up late, working in the forge alone. He should probably be working on fulfilling Stoick’s increased weapon quota, but he can’t bring himself to focus. He knew this would happen. Why did he let Hiccup leave? Between Stoick’s reaction and then Gothi’s vision, the blacksmith is starting to wish he had kept the youth back, at least until Stoick returned. Maybe then, things could have been solved differently…

Agh, who was he kidding? He can’t even convince himself that Hiccup’s mood would have improved if the boy had stuck around until his father came. The boy felt lost, abandoned, and no matter how hard Gobber tried, nothing he did helped. Yes, he worries a lot for his little apprentice, but at the same time, he hopes the boy found himself a place to belong. Although, to be perfectly honest… Gobber wishes that place would be his forge, right here on Berk. Hiccup’s skills and ideas were one of a kind, even if they didn’t always work out. 

He misses the kid. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand that's another chapter up and posted! So, the trend of Hiccup being unconscious at the end of chapters continues. We get to finally meet some figures of interest, including Oscar and Mason. (Those two named hunters will have especially important roles later on, each in their own way.) We get to see a bit of Gobber's perspective again, and then of course there's Snotlout. Oh, and one other important character made a small but meaningful cameo. And yes, in case it wasn't obvious, I do play Skyrim. And I hate Nazeem. 
> 
> So, given the popularity of the story, I thought you guys might want to interact a bit with me. Well, the good news is, I am on Discord! If you guys want (let me know in the comments), I will add a link to my profile so that you guys can hop onto a Discord server and chat with me. Sometimes I even give away small snippets of new chapters as teasers before they're published... 
> 
> Anyways, thank you all so much for your amazing comments and support!


	7. At Raven's Point

The young guard kept his promise. 

When Hiccup awakens, he finds himself in the same room as before. The young guard seems to have fallen asleep while sitting against the headboard of the bed, but true to his word, he hasn’t left. While Hiccup’s shoulder still hurts, the pain is no longer blinding. He manages to sit up a bit without jostling the sleeping guard. He sees that he’s no longer in a cell — now, he’s just in a normal room. There’s a few lamps hanging from the ceiling, likely containing fireworms for their source of light. There’s a candelabrum on a shelf, all but one candle already burned out. There’s also a wardrobe, and a desk, and even a small cooking area. The place is clearly lived in. Perhaps it’s the home of the young guard? If so, Hiccup feels a bit bad for intruding. 

Hiccup realizes that his clothing is no longer the rags the pirates had forced him into. Instead, he’s wearing a decently comfortable tunic, along with matching pants and a belt. The clothing is a bit big on him… although it’s probably a perfect fit for the person currently asleep next to him. Hiccup discovers that someone had bandaged his shoulder as well, a bandaging not just meant to keep out infection but to also show care. Hiccup shifts slightly, wanting to get a better look at the person he ended up trusting so much.

Unfortunately, in shifting around, Hiccup accidentally elbows the young guard, and in response to the rude awakening, the older teen falls to the floor with a small yell.

“Oh Thor, I’m so sorry!” Hiccup’s voice came out rather raspy from a lack of use as he apologized quickly. 

“Ugh, Odin’s hairy jewels, what the hell was that,” the guard muttered as he got up from the floor, shaking his head to shake off both shock and sleepiness. “No wonder dad said to never sleep on the edge of the bed…” The older teen then looks to Hiccup, “So, looks like you’re feeling better at least.”

Hiccup finds himself nodding, still feeling a bit guilty. He asks, “are you sure you’re okay?”

The guard just laughs slightly, waving it off, “I’m fine. Don’t worry. I’ve had far worse falls.” He sits down on the edge of the bed again, studying Hiccup with dark eyes that hold no malevolence. “I’m more worried about you, though. The healer looked at the wound on the back of your head. It’s not pretty, but they wanted to wait until you were awake before cleaning it out.”

Hiccup finds his words stuck in his throat. A healer? He swallows, breathing once or twice before questioning, “a healer? Wasn’t I, y’know, a prisoner a few hours ago, or however long ago since I got knocked out?”

“Our Chief — well, one of them — took an interest in you after your escape attempt. In fact, I’d probably have made you breakfast if not for the fact that he wanted to speak to you personally as soon as possible once you woke up,” the young guard admitted. Hiccup froze at that. Usually, whenever a Chief wants to speak with a prisoner, it’s never good. The nice treatment, the meal… it all sounds like the benefits given to someone who is about to be honorably executed. And yet, the older teen had also mentioned something about a healer, and why would you bother having someone checked by a healer if they are to die soon anyways? 

The young guard seems to realize what Hiccup is thinking, gentle brown eyes meeting emeralds that are widened with fear. “No no no, not like that. He’s… curious, is the best way to put it. It’s nothing bad, he just wants to get to know you. Just act casually, talk with him, and, most importantly, don’t lie to him. He’s incredibly good at sniffing out liars, even if he doesn’t seem like it.”

Hiccup nods slowly in understanding. “Okay… when will I be seeing him?”

“Are you feeling well enough to go now?”

* * *

That morning, Snotlout woke up far earlier than he normally bothered. He was up and out of the house before his father even rolled over in his bed. Okay, maybe he didn’t get much sleep, but that’s not important. Not like he could have slept anymore anyways, not with him being bothered by that nightmare. Ugh, the things he’s willing to do for his toothpick of a cousin… Although he probably deserved it, considering he may have left his cousin in the forest with that wild dragon in his panic. Uh… oops?

The ground is cold as Snotlout slips away from the village. The dew from the grass sticks to his shoes, leaving them wet. The sun’s rays do little to help him, for they are still cold. Like a warrior, even the sun needs to warm up before it can get to work with heating the day. He ignores the cold, though. If his cousin is still alive out there, he probably has hypothermia by now or something. Oh, what is he saying? Of course Hiccup is still alive! If his cousin was killable, he’d have been long dead by now due to his wacky, crazy inventions!

Wet twigs bend beneath Snotlout’s boots as he walks. Wet leaves stick to him, making the soles of his boots slippery and dangerous. At times, he needs to stop for a moment to get the leaves off. He continues towards the top of Raven’s Point, needing to take a good look around. That dragon had been flying around overhead, had it not? Snotlout hopes its gone. He brought an axe with him, obviously, but that’s more of a last resort and extra precaution so that nothing out here gets him killed. As he walks, he decides he’s far enough from the village so that no one will hear him. He starts calling out his cousin’s name, occasionally adding an insulting word like “runt” or a comment like “you’re so dead once I find you,” just so that any listening dragons don’t think he’s gone soft. He can’t let his cousin ruin his reputation, after all.

Suddenly, another voice calls out, but it’s not Hiccup’s. Snotlout pales, realizing he was not alone. Nope, definitely not alone. In fact, Snotlout Jorgenson is certain he had just made the absolute worst mistake in his life. The voice that called back was the deep, angry, tone of his uncle. Or, rather, the deep, angry tone of his chief. Snotlout really considers turning heel and running the opposite way… but what if this makes the difference between his cousin’s life and death? 

“Snotlout!”

Snotlout makes a decision. He knows Stoick will probably want him out of the forest and back in Gobber’s forge because he thinks Snotlout is weak. Well guess what? Snotlout ain’t gonna make it easy! He had some sleep, he has enough stamina. He takes off into a sprint, heading towards Raven Point and continuing to yell for Hiccup, this time adding things like “Hiccup, this isn’t funny! Come out of hiding before your dad throws his axe at me!” instead of “runt” or other insults and threats. 

He knows Stoick is chasing him. Oh, he can hear the chief’s footsteps gaining on him. Okay, maybe some of Snotlout’s yelled comments had been a bit overboard, but come on! Did he really deserve this? Actually, maybe it’s better to not answer that. He can hear Stoick yelling at him to slow down, to stop. Snotlout doesn’t want to stop. Snotlout doesn’t want to go back to the forge. Snotlout wants to be useful and find his cousin. And so, he keeps running, sprinting. 

Unfortunately, Snotlout suddenly goes down. He hadn’t been paying attention, and there had been a half-broken branch that had been at the perfect height to whack him in the face. He falls backwards with a yell, falling with a heavy thud. He hears Stoick catch up, footsteps approaching then slowing. Snotlout closes his eyes, the back of his head feeling like it’s on fire. He must have landed on a jagged rock, or on something hard. “Snotlout!” The chief’s yell hurt Snotlout’s ears. The boy feels the chief examine him. Snotlout feigns unconsciousness, not wanting to deal with the consequences of his choices at the moment.

The things he’d do for his cousin. 

Then, Snotlout hears the chief gasp, and he hears the Chief move away. Snotlout opens one eye to see what is going on. Stoick had walked a bit farther down, towards… something. Snotlout sees a bola net, not unlike the stuff Hiccup had been obsessed with launching. Based on the surroundings, it looks like the net had captured something -- like a dragon -- and skidded across the small clearing, stopping near a rock. Then, it must have gotten free. There’s a small knife on the ground nearby, one Snotlout recognizes easily, too easily. Most vikings don’t care much for detail on their knives, and there’s no way Gobber could create such tiny, intricate, familiar designs. 

Perhaps most damning is the small black scale next to the knife. 

_ "...Okay, but I hit a night fury." _

And no one had believed him. 

Had Hiccup tried to grab a scale as proof? Or maybe he started killing the dragon, but it got loose and… and…

Snotlout can’t bring himself to finish that thought. While Stoick is still in shock, the boy gets to his feet shakily and runs like the wind, heading back to the village as fast as his slightly-uncooperative legs can carry him, trying not to trip against every tree root he comes across. If he hurries, he’ll make it back in time for his forge shift, and the Chief will have no reason to have a problem with him! He almost gets back to the village when his vision starts to swim, blur. Maybe he had hit his head harder than he had expected.

* * *

Oscar (as Hiccup found out the young guard was named) kept a hand on Hiccup’s back as they walked slowly, the touch keeping the younger boy steady. Hiccup can walk on his own by now, but he doesn’t want to ask Oscar to remove his hand. The older boy has been kind and comforting, a lifeline in an unfamiliar and scary place. Hiccup finds himself looking around a lot, taking in his surroundings.

The village seems not unlike the one on Berk, except the houses are larger and… older, as if the buildings don’t get destroyed during raids. Are there even dragon raids here? It’s possible there aren’t -- they are rather far from Berk. The main differences are that this village is much larger than the Hooligan Tribe, and, well… there’s a giant stone structure up ahead. It looks a lot like the “castles” Johann had talked about in his stories from the mainlands, Hiccup thinks. Huge, stone, well-protected… and home to monarchs and incredibly powerful and important people. Okay, maybe Hiccup should be a bit nervous about this, if this “chief” he’s going to talk to lives in a giant stone palace the size of Berk. 

Oscar leads Hiccup up to the bridge leading to the castle before stopping. “This is as far as I can go. Think you’ll be fine walking the rest of the way, at least physically?”

Hiccup wants to say “no.” He really, really does. Alas, he nods, his voice a bit weak as he answers, “I’ll be fine.”

Oscar nods, then seems to hesitate with something. He settles for giving Hiccup’s good shoulder a small squeeze before stepping away. “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. We’ll meet up again afterwards, and I’ll give you a tour of the place.” With that, Oscar casts Hiccup one last glance before turning and walking away. 

In the meantime, a slightly older man approached Hiccup. This man had dark hair with light, almost-blonde highlights on his bangs. He has plenty of scars, the most prominent being four diagonal slices on his cheek. He seems far more formal as he speaks to Hiccup curtly, “follow me.” With that, he turns on his heel and walks towards the gates leading into the castle, leaving Hiccup little choice but to follow. 

Hiccup does his best to keep up but to also look around. Upon entering the castle, he sees plenty of trophies ranging from stuffed nadder heads to zippleback hides. So these guys did probably have a problem with dragons in the past -- they just eliminated it in true viking fashion, just as a tribe would do to any mortal enemy. Hiccup also sees paintings, expensive things like candelabrum and goblets made of jeweled silver. In one room, he even glimpsed a lifesize set of Maces and Talons, a set made of solid gold. 

They pass through a throne room, where Hiccup sees the bald man that had captured him originally. The boy shrinks slightly under the man’s glare, but thankfully, the guard leading him takes him to a room off to the side, away from the bald chief that probably would have killed Hiccup if given the chance. Hiccup gets pushed slightly into the room, and the door is shut behind him -- the escorting guard hadn’t entered with him. That definitely “helps” Hiccup’s nerves  _ plenty _ . 

Hiccup’s gaze lands on the man sitting at a desk on the other side of the room. The man has dark hair, a beard cut in a rather interesting fashion that isn’t too common in the Archipelago. He has dark, mysterious eyes and a scar on the side of his neck that looks like he had tried to fistfight a Monstrous Nightmare (and given by the fact that he’s still here and alive, Hiccup finds it safe to assume that the man had won that battle). There’s paperwork on the desk, but the man is not focused on that. Instead, he’s holding some sort of figurine his his hands. 

“They say there are two ways to be fooled. One is to believe what isn’t true; the other is to refuse to believe what is.” The man looks up, smirking slightly at Hiccup. The boy finds it difficult to read any emotion in the man’s eyes. “Maces and Talons.” 

Hiccup nods slightly, unable to figure out what to say. He’s familiar with the game, vaguely, but he doesn’t understand what this means. 

“I hope Oscar has been showing you nothing but undivided hospitality,” the man said off-handedly, but something in his tone hinted that it was also a threat, that if Oscar had acted otherwise then he’d be punished. “Come, sit down. You must be tired after your terrible ordeal with the pirates.” 

Hiccup walks over and sits down on the chair that had been set on the opposite side of the desk relative to the chief, not questioning how the man knows about that. He must have found out from the other chief. Hiccup notices that this chief looks a bit younger than the other one. Odd -- normally, there’s only ever two chiefs if both are twins. He couldn’t have challenged the likely-older chief, either; the bald chief could probably snap him in half without a second thought. 

Alas, Hiccup’s nervousness gets the better of him in this situation, and his bitterness and sarcasm has really been building up over the past few days. “What do you want?” Hiccup ended up asking, the words slipping out. Oh Thor, he screwed up again, just like he screws everything up…

The man sitting behind the desk raises an eyebrow, replying calmly, “I am not asking you to do anything for me. I simply want to get to know you, find out why someone as brilliant as you ended up here.” He shifts, leaning back in his chair casually, kobicha eyes examining the youth in front of him. 

Hiccup didn’t know what he was expecting from this conversation, but it probably wasn’t this. “Uh…”

“Let’s start with something easy for now — what’s your name?”

“H-Henry,” Hiccup lied. He remembers Oscar’s warning, but he also knows that he can’t be honest. If his role as a heir is figured out, he could be used for ransom or information or… or anything, really. 

“That’s quite an interesting name. Rather rare in these areas, if memory serves correctly. In fact, it’s a name more befitting of someone from the mainlands, which you clearly are not.” Now, the man leans forward, saying, “So, I ask again. What is your name?”

“Hiccup Haddock,” the words danced off of Hiccup’s lips before he could do anything. Somehow, this man was able to catch Hiccup’s lie almost immediately. Was it the stutter? Something in Hiccup’s facial expression? Did he shift uncomfortably while saying it? Hiccup has no clue how the man knows, but he knew. 

A satisfactory smirk tugs at one side of the man’s lips. “Hiccup,” he repeats the name. Yes, that sounds about right for a boy like this, “and how old are you?”

“Fifteen,” Hiccup answers, having realized that lying is probably useless. 

“You didn’t tell my brother the truth, did you?”

Hiccup swears, the man’s brown eyes can see directly through him. Hiccup’s bad at keeping secrets in general, but this? This is ridiculous! He thought his act on board the ship had been convincing enough, and yet here he is, his story getting torn to shreds by a man who wasn’t even there, by a man who had simply heard of the story, by a man who knows nothing yet everything about Hiccup. Hiccup finds himself frozen like a deer in dragonfire, his mouth opening but no words coming out. 

The man’s smirk deepens as he shifts, placing the Maces and Talons figurine on his desk, the figurine’s face frozen into an eternal warcry as it faces Hiccup. From what Hiccup remembers, the figure is the Honorable Chief, the “good guy” in Maces and Talons, the one who usually wins, at least in the games Hiccup plays. That might just be because the other teens usually force Hiccup to be the Marauder Chief because that chief is weak and never meant to win. The man moves his chair in and leans forward, resting some of his weight on his elbows, which are now on the desk. He clasps his hands on the desk in front of him loosely, not paying them much attention. Right now, his sole focus in the entire room is the boy sitting across from him.

“My dear Hiccup, I can help you with anything you could possibly need…” those words feel like they belong in a dream, but the man’s next words ground them in reality as he says, “but I cannot do so without your help.”


	8. Maces and Talons, Part 1

Hiccup chews on a piece of roasted chicken meat slowly, not wanting his eating to sound too loud. He still sat across the desk from one of the two chiefs of this tribe. He has learned that the man’s name is Viggo Grimborn, and that he is the younger brother to the bald man, whose name is Ryker. Hiccup still has no clue how Viggo is a chief despite his clear lack in strength and age relative to Ryker, but he chooses not to question it. So far, Hiccup’s questions have been answered vaguely at best while Viggo’s questions have Hiccup singing like he’s a captured canary in a crimson cage. Surprisingly, the man seldom asked about family, for which Hiccup was thankful; had Viggo asked, Hiccup likely would have ended up revealing his identity as a chief’s son. Instead, the man asked Hiccup about the boy’s hobbies, and Hiccup ended up talking about his sketches and his apprenticeship and work in the forge. At some point as they talked, someone had came in with some food for both of them, and Viggo had moved some paperwork off of his desk so that he and the boy could eat while continuing their conversation. 

“And did you happen to bring some sketches with you?” Viggo asked at one point, his food mostly untouched. 

“I had some on me in the Northern Markets, but the pirates stole everything I had,” Hiccup admits. 

“Hmm, pity.” Something in the man’s tone hints at a disappointment, and for some reason, Hiccup feels an old, familiar flame ignite within him, one that feels the desperate need to receive recognition and pride, the two things Hiccup has always been denied by his peers, his tribe, his father. 

“I can make some if you want me to, though,” Hiccup suggested, hoping he didn’t sound too desperate there. 

“All in due time, my dear Hiccup. For now, you should enjoy your relaxation period as you heal. Afterwards, we’ll speak more about your future plans.” After saying this, Viggo calls out, “Mason!” 

The door opens within a few seconds, revealing the same guard who had escorted Hiccup to the room. So that’s another name Hiccup can keep in mind. After all, the guard wasn’t too bad, just a bit quiet. Hiccup turns his head to watch as the guard enters, closing the door behind him, and takes a spot next to the door, leaning against the wall calmly. 

Viggo’s voice brings Hiccup’s attention back to the chief. “Unless you have any further questions, this concludes our meeting. Of course, you’re welcome to stay longer if you wish to speak more. I have nothing but time.”

Hiccup puts down his food on the desk, no longer feeling hunger for it; instead, he feels a hunger for conversation, for knowledge, for answers. “Uh, actually, yeah — why are you doing all of this? Why do you care?” Hiccup felt the need to ask those questions as he stared at the figurine of the Honorable Chief, which still stood on the desk, facing Hiccup. Hiccup knows he’s weak, spineless, pathetic; overall, he’s not worth the time nor effort to keep around. So why has this man, who appeared out of nowhere for all Hiccup is concerned, suddenly taken such a deep interest in him? 

A small, deep laugh escapes the man as he watches the boy eye the figurine. “My dear Hiccup, tell me — why do you think I am chief, despite my brother being both older and far stronger than I am?”

“He needs someone to do the housework while he’s gone doing warrior things like expeditions?” Hiccup went for the most honest answer, despite it being probably the most inappropriate answer as well. 

Viggo looks amused yet simultaneously not. “I appreciate the honesty of your answer nonetheless, despite it being far from the truth. Fact is, our father decided it so before he died. While age and strength are certainly important traits for a chief…” Viggo suddenly slams his hand onto the Maces and Talons figurine, making it disappear from Hiccup’s view as the boy is convinced that it’s broken. He doesn’t finish his previous sentence, instead deciding to lead Hiccup so that the boy finds the answer himself. “When you entered, I told you there are two ways to be fooled.”

“One is to believe what isn't true, while the other is to refuse to believe what is,” Hiccup recited, having remembered that fairly easily. 

“Precisely.” He lifts his fist from the desk and opens it, revealing the figurine to be resting safely in his palm. “I began playing Maces and Talons with my grandfather when I was just a boy. I always insisted upon being the Honorable Viking Chief,” he pauses, looking Hiccup over. The boy seemed to be following along well, for now. “I could never understand how he bested me time and time again. For years, I assumed his skill transcended mine. I believed what wasn't true. But, you see, in Maces and Talons, as in life, the line between good and evil is often unclear. Black and white can become gray so easily. What one soul considers evil, another might consider righteous. The Honorable Chief who fails to see this is found to be the fool.”

“And what does this have to do with-” Hiccup finds himself being cut off there.

“Your tribe considers strength to be a chief’s most important asset, do they not?”

“Well… Yeah, mostly…” Hiccup admitted. He did not like talking about his dad in a negative light, despite everything, but it’s hard to argue this, especially with Viggo’s logic. 

“They too believe what isn’t true.”

* * *

Gobber finds today’s turnout to be a bit lacking in terms of the teens. Fishlegs had shown up on time, as expected, and he remembered most of Gobber’s teachings from the previous evening, even if they were a bit basic and he was a bit clumsy. Snotlout showed up two hours late, his head bandaged and the boy flanked by the chief. By that point, Astrid had yet to show up. Gobber has no clue what Ruffnut and Tuffnut are doing, but they’re probably still doing their ritual of grieving, and something tells him the Thorston twins would have done more harm than good as apprentices anyways. 

Snotlout mumbles a greeting as he passes Gobber, heading to do whatever job he can so that he can avoid talking to his uncle again. He takes up working with the grindstone to sharpen an axe or something that looks dull. Just… anything to keep himself from having to talk, having to think. He doesn’t want to have to think about what he saw earlier. It hurts his head. And he knows that Stoick and Gobber are probably going to talk about it, and he really hopes that the sound of the grindstone is enough to keep the sound of them talking out of his ears. 

Despite not hearing anything, Snotlout can still see as Stoick and Gobber talk. He can see Stoick’s grim expression contrasting Gobber’s otherwise-neutral one. He can see as the news seems to hit Gobber like a watchtower, as the blacksmith’s expression becomes grim. He can see as Stoick’s expression turns to anger as the chief probably swears to destroy the dragon at any cost. He can see Gobber try and stop the chief from walking off, from being irrational. He can see Gobber’s efforts go ignored as the Chief of the Hooligan Tribe does leave, ready to go personally hunt down the beast that stole his son. 

He’s thankful that the whirl of the grindstone blocked out his hearing but regrets that it didn’t block out his thoughts. 

* * *

“How’d it go?” 

After chatting with Viggo Grimborn, Hiccup had been sent to the healer with Mason. The escorting guard did not speak much, but he did cast a glance at Hiccup on occasion, as if checking for something or whatever. It was a bit awkward, but Hiccup wasn’t harassed or insulted, so he put up with it. The healers didn’t converse much either besides when absolutely necessary. Hiccup’s shoulder is healing well and will be fully healed soon, whereas the wound on the back of his head will require him being careful to not hit it again and having it checked often. The healers also decide they want to do a full examination of him, which also gives them a chance to wash him off thoroughly, getting rid of any nasty residue that’s still left over from his experiences as a prisoner to both pirates and the tribe. Only after all of that is Hiccup finally allowed to leave, and it’s to the boy’s eternal gratitude that he finds Oscar waiting for him just outside the healer’s hut. The young guard is wearing an outfit similar to the one Hiccup had woken up in, confirming Hiccup’s suspicions from earlier about wearing Oscar’s clothes. Strangely enough, he finds himself not minding too much.  

“It was… tedious, and long, and tiring,” Hiccup answered Oscar’s question, referring mostly to being stuck with the healers for a long while. 

Oscar rolls his eyes, “yeah, the healers can be like that. I’m more interested in how your chat with Chief Viggo went, though.”

“Well, you weren’t kidding about him knowing when someone’s lying,” Hiccup says a bit sheepishly, implicitly admitting that he hadn’t followed Oscar’s suggestion fully. 

“I told you so,” Oscar laughs slightly, reaching over to ruffle Hiccup’s still-wet hair. “Let’s go; there’s some food waiting for us at home, and after that, I can take you on a small tour of the village if you’re feeling up for it.”

“Don’t you have your shift soon?” Hiccup remembers that Oscar also has work to do as a guard. After all, it’s how they met.

“Nah, the Chief exempted me from work until further notice since I’m taking care of you.”

* * *

Upon completing his other tasks after taking Hiccup to the healer, Mason walked briskly to the Grimborn Castle. He knows he’s not expected for an audience or report until sunset, but his recent and more menial tasks had given him time to think. Finding out the boy’s name had sparked a memory from the distant past in the back of his mind, and although he’ll want it confirmed before doing anything, he’ll need to report it to Viggo anyways. He walks through the halls of the castle like he owns them. None of the other guards dare stop him — interfering with his business has proven to be a deadly mistake on several occasions. With the support of both Grimborn’s at his back, Mason is well-paid and untouchable, and that’s exactly how he likes it. 

He approaches the door to Viggo’s office and knocks twice, loudly and quickly. He waits a few seconds, and once he’s given permission, he opens the door and enters the room, shutting the door behind him and locking it. It’s a sensitive matter, and he does not need anyone overhearing or interfering. He does not delay his report; he knows Viggo is waiting and does not want more of his time taken up than absolutely necessary. “Sir, I have a potential update on the identity of Hiccup Haddock.”

That makes Viggo look up from his papers, kobicha eyes examining his loyal guard. Curiosity proves extremely powerful, for this is an incredibly intriguing subject — far more intriguing than paperwork. “Go on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The original chapter "Maces and Talons" was one part, but at one point, I realized just how long it would be... so you guys get half today and then the second half tomorrow.
> 
> Thank you all for your amazing support! Again, if any of you have Discord, let me know and I'll send you an invite link to a server I post updates for the fanfic on.
> 
> Thank you for reading! (and special thanks to Fayolah for being my beta reader)


	9. Maces and Talons, Part 2

Astrid shows up at the forge almost an hour after Snotlout, three hours after she was supposed to get there. She’s drenched in sweat and has her axe on her back, its blade dulled as if it had just been used to cut down half the forest on Berk. She storms into the forge, pushing past Gobber without a hello, and takes her axe off of her back. She holds it out to Snotlout as she says, still a bit out of breath, “sharpen this for me, will you?”

“Woah woah woah, and what do I look like to you? A toothpick?” Snotlout’s head injury likely makes him even more irritable than normal, and getting bossed around is not something he’s willing to put up with at the moment. 

“You’re at the grindstone,” Astrid pointed out as if it was the most obvious thing in the known viking world.

“Yeah, I’m  _ working _ . Which  _ you _ apparently have been skipping out on.”

That makes Astrid’s anger flare up. How dare  _ Snotlout  _ accuse her of that? “I’ve been skipping out on  _ forge work _ so I could practice and be more useful when the  _ actual _ battle comes!” 

“And when will that be? A week? A month? In several years?”

“As soon as the Chief says it will be! It could even be today for all we know!”

“And you expect that the Chief will let you fight?”

“He will once he sees I’m ready for it!”

“Uh, newsflash, Astrid — I  _ know _ my uncle. He’s not in his right state of mind after Hiccup the Useless’s disappearance.” After all, he can’t make it seem like he cares too much. 

Astrid is ready to throw her axe at Snotlout’s head, a fatal blow at close-range due to an impossibility of her missing. “‘Useless’? Gods, if that’s what you call him, no wonder he tried to go out and kill a dragon on his own!” 

“I’ve called him that all his life and you were fine with it!”

“I never said I was fine with it!”

“You never said you weren’t! If you had a problem with it, why didn’t you try preventing it or defending him? Because then Astrid ‘the Great’ Hofferson would be seen talking with a runt?”

“It’s the same reason you treated him the way you did!” 

“I’m his  _ cousin _ , I had a birthright to be mean to him!” 

“Um, guys?...” Fishlegs tried to pipe up quietly, noticing that their arguing had gotten some unwanted attention — namely, the large and tall and angry viking that’s currently approaching the forge. Even Gobber backs away into the depths of his forge, knowing that this won’t be pretty. Unfortunately, the two keep arguing. 

“Only because you’re jealous of him!”

“I was not jealous! Why would I be jealous of a  _ toothpick _ ?”

“Because he’s the heir? Because his father’s the chief? Because his father actually cares about him?”

“Hey! Leave my dad out of this!”

“ENOUGH!” A booming voice suddenly interrupts the argument. 

Both Snotlout and Astrid stiffen, going quiet. Well, this probably isn’t good. They can’t remember the last time they’ve seen the Chief this angry. It’s almost worse than when he found out that Hiccup’s gone. Astrid realizes that she’s very, very terrified. 

“Oh, uh, hi Chief,” Snotlout laughs nervously, trying to make it seem like he didn’t almost shit his pants. 

“What is going on here?” The Chief’s voice is even as he speaks. Too even, in fact. It’s the type of even voice that sounds like a blade sliding out of its scabbard, ready to strike and slice apart the next person that angers its wielder. In this case, the Chief doesn’t need a blade; all he needs, at most, is his bare hands. (In the event that isn’t enough, he can use his surroundings, which happen to contain plenty of blades, sharp and dull, straight and bent. There’s also clubs, maces, nets… plenty of deadly weapons to shut people up with.)

Astrid tries to speak first, “Snotlout’s acting like a toddler and is insulting Hiccup and refusing to sharpen my blade!”

Alas, Snotlout speaks simultaneously as her, his voice overtaking hers in accusation, “Astrid’s not following your orders and is off doing axe training and making more work for us instead of helping!” 

The Chief’s eyes narrow into a glare. Oh, there will be consequences. He knows what he heard, and the teens are all too eager to shove the blame onto one another and throw each other into the line of fire, which only highlights how not-ready they are for battle. Snotlout… the boy has been horrible in the past to Hiccup, Stoick knows that. Stoick also knows how many times other people, himself included, had stood by and watched Hiccup get teased and made fun of. Insulting and making fun of Hiccup… Snotlout would be doing it no matter what type of viking Hiccup was. Weird as it feels to say, the Jorgenson boy is in the right about one thing — he may be guilty for the teasing, but everyone else is equally guilty for letting it happen. Refusing to sharpen the axe blade does seem petty… but then there’s Snotlout’s accusation to consider. Stoick will need to go check in with Gobber regarding Astrid, but something tells the Chief that the girl’s fire has grown too powerful to fast, and it will burn and consume anything in its path, be it dragon or viking. She is too fiery and not ready, and she refuses to understand because her family name and victory in dragon training had gotten to her head. 

They’re not dealing with a normal dragon, They know that now, thanks to Snotlout’s accidental discovery. No, now they’re dealing with a demon, the unholy offspring of lightning and death itself, the very same dragon that can be blamed for Hiccup being born early, for Hiccup being born a runt. The same dragon that can be blamed for plenty of other damage on Berk, and the same dragon that decided to finish what it had started and go after Hiccup. Well, not exactly. After all, it had been Hiccup who initiated the meeting with the beast in the first place… and he had gone alone because no one, not even his own father, had trusted the boy’s words. 

_ "...Okay, but I hit a night fury." _

* * *

“So, does everyone on this island have an obsession with this game?” Hiccup asked. He’s sitting on a rather comfortable chair in Oscar’s house, seated in front of the table. Oscar’s making them some food, and in the meantime, he managed to dig out an old Maces and Talons board. The young guard is currently setting it up on the table, trying to find a missing figurine or something. 

Oscar laughs slightly at the question, replying, “no, but it is quite popular, and you telling me about our Chief’s references to it made me realize how long it’s been since I last played it.” Oscar examines the board, placing a few pieces onto it before asking, “so, want to be the Honorable Viking Chief or the Marauder Chief?”

Hiccup doesn’t really know what to say. In the past, he never got to pick because the others always wanted the Honorable Viking Chief and never gave him much choice. Besides, it was fitting, since he never won, and the Honorable Viking Chief is always meant to win, at least as far as he knows… but then again, didn’t Viggo Grimborn say that he lost while playing as the Honorable Viking Chief? Well, maybe it’s because he was a child and playing against an adult, but that can’t be it, not based on what he said afterwards… whatever. Hiccup decides to let Oscar choose, saying, “I don’t really think I have a preference…”

Oscar ponders it for a moment, then turns the board so that the Honorable Viking Chief is on Hiccup’s side. “I’ll play as the Marauder Chief, then, just to change things up.” So Oscar usually plays as the Honorable Viking Chief himself. Huh, interesting little fact, at least to Hiccup. So far, Oscar really seems to be everything Hiccup is not: respected, at least to some degree; able to live on his own and fend for himself; strong, strong enough to lift most weapons, unlike Hiccup; smart, but the successful type of smart, the type that can make plans that actually work… 

Hiccup nods, a bit of determination in his eyes. Maybe he can avoid looking like a total fuck-up in front of Oscar. “Okay.”

They talk as they play, with Oscar even offering some advice for Hiccup from time to time. Hiccup discovers very quickly that he had been lied to when he’d played Maces and Talons in the past. The other teens had cheated, then accused his allowed moves as cheating under the guise of “the Marauder Chief can’t do everything the Honorable Viking Chief can.” Having played the game wrong before makes it more difficult to play against Oscar at first, but once he has it down, it proves challenging but also enjoyable. Of course, it seems that Oscar’s skills in the game are far from rusty despite how long he hasn’t played it. The older of the two boys easily defeats the younger one in the game, and Hiccup is left in deep thought. He finds Oscar’s strategy to be incredibly interesting, given that the boy defeated all of Hiccup’s pieces and still had four of his own left on the field. 

As they finish playing, Oscar realizes something. “Oh Odin, my dumplings!” With that, he gets up insanely fast from his chair and disappears into the kitchen area before the chair he had been sitting on manages to fully fall backwards and hit the floor with a thud. Hiccup ended up laughing slightly. Oscar truly is something else compared to the vikings Hiccup knows from Berk, and that’s in a good way. 

Oscar returns a few minutes later with two plates of dumplings. He had managed to save their dinner before it could die a fiery demise at the evil claws of the kitchen fire. Hiccup finds himself rather interested, for he has never seen anyone eat dumplings with sugar before. Then again, sugar is a rarity on Berk at times and is often reserved for large events, and it looks like that isn’t the case here. Oscar shifts the Maces and Talons board over a bit with his elbow and places a plate of dumplings right in front of Hiccup. Honestly, they smell amazing. Hiccup’s no stranger to bad cooking — his father knows some basics but sometimes forgets he’s cooking food and leaves it to burn, and he learned the hard way to never accept any food-related gifts from the Hoffersons. Don’t even get him started on Spitelout. In reality, the main places he ever got food from were the Great Hall and, on occasion, one of Mrs Ingerman’s pies. 

Oscar’s cooking is a godsend in comparison. Hiccup devours the entire plate of dumplings rather embarrassingly fast, which makes him stutter an apology while Oscar laughs amusedly. Oscar teases Hiccup lightly, but it’s truly playful teasing and not the type Hiccup had to endure on Berk. As his own form of apology, Oscar gives Hiccup the rest of his own food, which is half a plate’s worth of dumplings. Hiccup tries refusing at first, but it’s hard to argue with Oscar, and those dumplings are so good… 

Once they’re done eating (and once Oscar cleans the plates, which he does before Hiccup can even offer to help), Oscar returns to his seat and he and Hiccup talk a bit. There’s no rush for them, and both of them feel too lazy to go on the tour immediately after eating. 

“So, how did you end up getting a house like this to yourself?” Back on Berk, a house like Oscar’s would have been reserved for only someone like an Elder or perhaps a visiting chief, and based on what Hiccup saw when he was led to speak with the Chief, Oscar’s place is also larger and a bit more grand than most of the tribe’s, even if only by a little at times. 

“That’s a funny story, actually. I used to have an incredibly tiny house near the coast until a few months ago, but then it was burned down when a wagon convoy with a shipment of fireworm lanterns broke down and some of the lanterns broke, releasing the fireworms.” He waves it off slightly when Hiccup gasps, continuing, “I spent that night trying to salvage what I could, but in the morning, Mason made me a deal. He said he had some important business to do but that he wanted someone to represent him in a Maces and Talons tournament he was signed up for. So I decided, hey, why not? In return, he’d find me a place to live. 

“So I went to the tournament, playing, and while I did fine, I didn’t do wonderfully, or at least I didn’t think I did. I may have drank some mead and champagne here and there… next thing I remember from that tournament is being woken up to discover that I somehow won first place and got a life-size gold trophy,” he says with a small smile, fond of the rather ridiculous turn of events. “Turns out, it was the last trophy our chiefs needed to complete their collection, and with Mason acting as the middleman, I managed to get a pretty sweet deal: this house, a few coin purses full of gold, and ownership of the forge next door and one of the nearby gardens.” He shrugs, “I guess you can say that having my old house burn down had been a blessing in disguise at the time. Nowadays, I just work so I feel a sense of self-fulfillment.” 

“That’s… wow, okay. That’s actually a pretty crazy story, come to think of it. Aren’t those tournaments like super hard to win? And you won while drunk?” Hiccup is a bit astonished, but it was an interesting story.

Oscar laughs, joking, “I’m guessing I was the least-drunk person there, then.”

Hiccup laughs as well. That actually seems very probable. And you know what? He’s happy for Oscar. Maybe Oscar had his own difficulties in the past, too, but he overcame them without losing his bright smile, without becoming jaded like so many of the warriors on Berk.

Suddenly, Hiccup asks, “So… do you guys have dragon raids here?”

“Dragon raids? Ha, no, although some of us wish we did. It would mean the dragons would come to us instead of us having to go looking for dragons to hunt down. And, actually…” Oscar grabs something he had placed under the table earlier, specifically for his occasion. It’s two glasses and a champagne bottle. 

As Oscar opens the bottle, Hiccup can’t help but wonder — would life on Berk be like this too if dragons weren’t a constant nuisance? Would they have expeditions meant to hunt dragons, too, even if the dragons were no longer a threat to their own tribe? Would they be helping other tribes deal with the threat of dragons? Would they no longer lose innocent lives to those beasts, and no longer need to spend their youth putting out fires and adulthood fighting dragons? Oscar doesn’t look like he’s a warrior specifically. Without the dragons around as a direct threat, there’s probably nothing stopping Oscar from becoming a cook or baker or something. Oscar can be whatever he wants, unlike Hiccup. On Berk, everyone has to be a warrior. Here? Well…  What where the words Viggo Grimborn said? Hiccup can practically hear them in his own head as his memory responds, reciting what the chief had said about the Hooligans and their belief in only strength.  _ “They too believe what isn’t true. _ ” This tribe has no use for everyone being physically strong; they’ve transcended that. Now, they have a use for the weaker vikings and the caring vikings, the knowledge-bearers and the mothers, the healers and the merchants, the forgemasters and the children, the runts and the hiccups. 

Oscar hands Hiccup a glass of champagne, a small spark of understanding passing between them as Hiccup accepts the glass, a smile tugging at his lips. Who knew that getting caught in a storm, captured by pirates, and mistaken for a thief would lead to him finding what he had been searching for? It’s with honor that Hiccup raises his glass in a toast alongside Oscar, with the raven-haired boy’s words ringing softly, acting as a guiding beacon that slowly brings Hiccup’s long search for acceptance to and end. 

“A toast to  _ our _ magnificent tribe, the Hunters; and to  _ our _ Chiefs, the brothers of House Grimborn!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we have reached the second half of the Maces and Talons chapter! It featured a lot of interaction between Hiccup and Oscar, along with some tensions reaching their breaking point on Berk... and we're still nowhere near done with this story! There's plenty of secrets being kept and plenty of decisions that must be made.
> 
> Unfortunately, due to life being a thing, the speed of my updates may slow to a chapter every two days once we surpass Chapter 10. It's difficult to constantly crank out 3k words a day. Have no fear, though! The story will be finished, for I've put too much effort into it to abandon it now. The Google Doc I'm writing my story on has hit 57 pages (12-point font, 1.15 spacing plus an extra space in between paragraphs). It's really freaking long, probably the longest work I've written and was satisfied with. 
> 
> As mentioned in previous authors' notes, if you have a Discord and wish to chat with me more about the story, let me know and I'll send you an invite to a server I post on! 
> 
> Thank you all for reading, and a special thanks to a friend on Discord (DragonGirlHTTYD, who does not have an AO3 account -- yet) for being my beta reader for this chapter!


	10. The Forgemaster

“...and this is seriously all yours?” Hiccup asks, amazed. He knew Oscar had made it to the upper levels of his tribe after winning that Maces and Talons tournament in Mason’s place, but this is just incredible. They had only gone to the gardens so far, and those are absolutely gorgeous. They’re maintained by the community, especially by young girls, but Oscar is the one whose word is law as far as the garden is concerned.  He has the final say in its design, in new additions, and other things. He shows Hiccup one of the newest features he added — a small river that weaves its way across the garden, its motion propelled using the heat of a bunch of fireworms he put in strategic spots underground. 

“Yeah, pretty much. It’s a nice place to go if you need to just… clear your head, you know? It’s nothing compared to the castle garden, though.”

“This is amazing…” Honestly, as long as Hiccup’s allowed to, he’ll probably spend quite a bit of time here, just thinking, sketching, relaxing. It’s perfect, really. The garden is several times the size of Gothi’s herb garden on Berk, and in some places, the wildlife is so thick it can completely hide a person from the rest of the village. There’s even a small hedge maze with an artificial, fireworm-powered, warm pool of crystal-clear water in the center, with several stone benches around it. It truly feels like a miniature safe haven, like it’s a portal to another island. Oscar knows the maze like the back of his hand, so getting in and out is easy for him. 

Hiccup finds himself wondering if perhaps he did die after all, because this place definitely feels like Valhalla. For all he knows, Oscar could just be a god in disguise. I mean, the older boy’s kindness and compassion and cooking definitely make it seem like that, as far as Hiccup is concerned. Gods, if a place like this existed all along, then what the hell was Hiccup doing suffering on Berk? 

After a tour of the garden, they go to tour another building. The scent hanging around the structure is one Hiccup recognizes easily — it’s a forge. Honestly, he almost hugs Oscar. The hunter probably has no clue how much this means to Hiccup. And the fact that it’s right next door to Oscar’s house means that Hiccup can easily go there whenever he has free time. It’s… perfect, honestly. The stock is much better than what Gobber had on Berk, with metals Hiccup has never even heard of (much less seen) lining the storage shelves. Hiccup vaguely hears Oscar mention something about him having rented the forge for some time but that the renter later got enough money to buy their own forge. As wonderful as Oscar is, this is the one time Hiccup is actually not paying attention to him. He’s just too lost in his thoughts and memories. It’s all so wonderful… but at the same time, there’s a bit of a feeling of longing and loneliness. He misses Gobber and his home, but at the same time...

* * *

 

“I see Stoick rode over ye an’ Astri’ rather ‘arshly,” Gobber comments as he pounds at some metal with his hammer prosthetic.

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Snotlout’s answer is surprisingly quiet, just barely audible over the whirl of the grindstone. That has become Snotlout’s favorite job, it seems. Not that Gobber’s complaining, of course; there’s always more things around the forge that need sharpening, and Snotlout’s doing it evenly enough. Now Gobber just needs to get Fishlegs to heat the metal properly (the Ingerman boy is always too scared of heating it too much, which usually means he never heats it enough). Then, he'd have two apprentices that were decent enough to actually help him in the forge rather than hinder him. Naturally, they’d still be no replacement of Hiccup — Gobber doubts anyone could ever replace the boy — but they’d actually prove useful. Maybe Gobber will meet Stoick’s insane quota after all. 

“Hiccup knows I didn’t mean it, right?” Snotlout suddenly asks quietly, breaking the blacksmith away from his thoughts.

“Tha’ ye didn’ mean what?” Gobber inquired, confused. 

Snotlout growls slightly, as if the answer is obvious and that he doesn’t want to say it. Nevertheless, he replied, “that I didn’t mean it when I called him useless, and… all that.”

Gobber knows the answer to that, and he won’t lie to Snotlout. The boy worked up the bravery to ask something difficult. Two or three days ago, Snotlout would have never asked such a thing for fear of ruining his reputation. Now, though? Now, things are different. Hiccup proved that even he had a limit, that even he could be pushed past the edge, past a point of no return, a point beyond which he would break and could never be fixed again. Gobber answers Snotlout’s question with the truth, no matter how ugly it may be. “‘E got used t’ it, bu’ ‘e always took it a’ face value.” 

“Are y-you sure?” The accidental stutter, one normally so rare for Snotlout but much more common for Hiccup, reveals the extent of the shock and horror the cousin feels.

“‘E’s been me apprentice since before ye coul’ hold a mace properly on yer own.” Yes, Gobber is absolutely certain, probably even more so than Stoick. He knows his apprentice well… and he can only hope that the boy is safe out there, wherever he is.

* * *

 

At this rate, Astrid’s ready to throw herself off of Raven’s Point. 

Stoick had been rather creative with his punishment. Rather than have her do some unimportant job that she could easily get out of, she was assigned to help Gothi. Of course, everyone knows that you never ever ever disrespect the village elder unless you want your skin to turn wrinkly early and all of your kids to become runts. Part of her wonders if the Chief made that mistake. If he did, then, well, she needs to be really careful, for she refuses to be the one to bring a weak Hofferson into this world. 

Working for Gothi is not difficult work, but it’s not directly helping find Hiccup, either. It’s also the type of work Astrid cannot skip out on, for if she does, the Gods will get angry and make her suffer later on, whether by weakening her skill in battle or something else. Astrid is not a fan of things like garden work, though, which just so happens to be her task today. Gothi is preparing some sort of mixture, and she needs more herbs, and so Astrid is now busy trying to figure out which herb is what using an old book that has its text and images partially faded and barely legible. 

As she works, she fails to notice that a small thorn on one of the plants scratches against her finger, leaving a cut.

* * *

 

“You know, at this rate, I’ll have to bring you a bed in here,” Oscar chuckled, watching Hiccup furiously trying to read through a book. They’re still in the forge, and Oscar realizes how good of a decision it was to leave it until the last part of the tour. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have gone anywhere else, not with how invested Hiccup is in the book. It’s not quite the reaction Oscar had expected, but hey, if Hiccup enjoys working in the forge, then more power to him.

“Just one more chapter,” Hiccup said absentmindedly, trying to absorb as much knowledge as possible as quickly as possible. This book contained information on metals and materials he has never even heard of, and with each metal, alloy, and material he reads about, more ideas start to form in his mind. Metals that don’t rust, metals that don’t melt except for at insanely high heats, metals that shatter when cooled, metals that need to be affected by two types of fire to be melted down… his inner nerd and inner inventor came out, and they’re refusing to go away. 

Oscar shakes his head slightly. He waits ten more minutes before gently taking the book out of Hiccup’s hands, marking the page with a flat piece of scrap metal before closing the book. “C’mon, there’s a few more things we need to do today. You can read more afterwards, okay? I don’t care if it’s during dinner or in bed by candlelight as long as it’s after we handle the last few things we need to do today.” 

“Right, okay,” Hiccup says, nodding and scratching the back of his head sheepishly. “Sorry.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for. Now come on, we’ve got some shopping to do, and I heard there’s some new traders in the market,” Oscar tells Hiccup.

“Uh, Oscar? I don’t exactly, um, have any coin…” Hiccup reminds the raven-haired friend. 

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll pay for you. If you’re really stubborn about paying me back, you can work on something for me in the forge later.”

* * *

 

It’d been a split second-decision on Gobber’s part to send Snotlout to the back of the forge when he noticed Spitelout approaching. Snotlout found himself rather thankful for it, even if the back of the forge was a bit cramped. It had been Hiccup’s room, after all, and Snotlout’s cousin was a lot smaller than Snotlout himself. But hey, it’s out of view, and there’s no way Spitelout Jorgenson would ever even suspect his son of hiding in the room of a runt. Besides, not that Snotlout’s trying to listen in or anything, but it just so happens that he can perfectly hear anything Gobber and Spitelout are saying. 

“What brings ye t’ th’ forge, Spitelout? Thought ye sai’ tha’ forge work was fer non-warriors,” Gobber’s clearly in not much of a mood to talk to Spitelout.

“Better forge werk than dealin’ wi’ a crazy Chief, I’ll say tha’! Stoick’s gone mad!”

“Really? Well what’d ye expect? ‘E lost ‘is son. Ye remember how ‘e was when ‘e lost Val.”

“‘E wants t’ go on another journey t’ find th’ nest! Now, wi’ abou’ two weeks left ‘til th’ usual First Frost!”

His father’s words made Snotlout freeze. Sailing off to look for the nest? So close to winter? What is Stoick thinking!? Is he even thinking!? If Hiccup was taken by a Night Fury, there’s probably nothing they can do. The toothpick is probably long since dragon chow by now. Stoick expects them to find a dragon nest they’ve already spent years looking for with no success and then attack a dragon no one has ever even seen properly (besides Hiccup, but that didn’t end well for him), all before the frost sets in? 

“No one’s gonna support ‘im,” Gobber comments. 

“‘E’s th’ Chief, ‘e doesn’ need support. ‘E’ll order us t’ go, and ye know i’! It’ll be jus’ like wi’ Val, excep’ it were th’ middle o’ summer then an’ not th’ approach o’ deep winter!”

Snotlout has to cover his mouth to keep himself from making any noise. If Stoick orders the entire tribe to set sail on the search, it’ll probably kill off a lot of people. Snotlout almost butts in, almost says that he refuses to let his dad die while looking for a runt… but he keeps quiet, knowing that such an expression of emotion could prove more damaging to his relation with his dad than beneficial. They’re vikings — injury and death are an occupational hazard, and emotions show nothing but weakness, especially as far as Snotlout’s dad is concerned. And in a sense, it does hold true. Hiccup may have been the weak link in the tribe, being a runt, but it’s Stoick’s attachment to the boy and the personal emotions that the Chief feels that will ultimately harm the tribe most.

* * *

 

Hiccup roamed the market. Oscar let him go off on his own, giving him a bag of coin. Hiccup doesn’t want to spend it, but at the same time, there’s so many things he could buy here! New metals, books on blacksmithing… gods, it’s like fifteen times the amount of stuff Johann usually brings to Berk. It’s wonderful, truly a dream come true. 

Shameful as it is to say, Hiccup spends every last gold piece Oscar had given him, with full intent to make it up to his host by making him something cool in the forge. All of the sellers had been extremely kind to him, which was a bit unnerving. One time, he tripped on accident and had at least six people helping him up and asking if he was okay. It’s almost like they’re terrified of him getting a single cut on his skin, which is extremely weird… but, at the same time, can Hiccup complain? It’s so much better than being pushed around and insulted. 

Part of him wonders if this is the result of his talk with the Chief. Oscar said that Viggo Grimborn must have taken a liking to Hiccup, a statement that Hiccup hadn’t believed much at first. But, well, given how well everyone was treating him… maybe Hiccup did end up on his good side after all. In fact, it almost feels like he’s being treated like a proper heir, one that’s respected and cared for by the tribe’s people. It’s an experience and sensation he never had back on Berk, one that feels absolutely amazing. Part of him wishes that the gods could just… undo time, undo his fate, and instead make him the heir of this tribe rather than the Hooligans. 

Hiccup notices that he finished his shopping earlier than planned. He decides to get the stuff back to the house (well, to the forge, to be more exact). He probably should go back to the market and find Oscar so that the kind host doesn’t worry, but at the same time, inspiration is striking him really hard. He could make Oscar a gift before Oscar even returns from the market! He has the parchment and charcoal he needs for planning; he has plenty of metals that are ready for being forged into something new; he even has a brush, squid ink, and a few paints he could use for decoration. He looks at his own belt, examining the tribe symbol of the Hunters. He could probably replicate the design, maybe adding a bit of his own flare to it. But what could Oscar use? A sword, a shield, an axe, a mace? Those are the things Hiccup’s best at making, but what if Oscar doesn’t like those, or doesn’t use those? Hiccup has enough parchment to make a book with an intricate binding and cover, but what if Oscar already has something like it or doesn’t need it? Okay, maybe this is harder to do than he expected. 

The only reason he breaks out of his thoughts is because he realizes he reached the forge door already. He opens it with a sigh, dropping off all of his new supplies there. Writing stuff, cloths, leather, metals, even a few small gems… yeah, Oscar had been extremely lenient with how much money he had given Hiccup. Hiccup really needs to make this gift good.

An idea suddenly strikes Hiccup. Maybe Oscar has some stuff lying around the house, stuff Hiccup can casually glance at for ideas. Hiccup just hopes it won’t come off as an invasion of privacy, and that Oscar won’t be upset with Hiccup not being in the market. He travels into the house, planning to look around for something, anything that could inspire him. There’s some swords and a shield on the wall, all clearly unused though. There’s a crossbow that looks like it has some wear on it, but not as much as the bow with the broken string that is right below it. There’s also two fragments of a fighting staff that looks like it had been bent and eventually snapped in half due to blows.

Hiccup grabs the damaged bow, the crossbow, and the staff fragments, sprinting to the forge with them. With movements showing grace and expertise, Hiccup examines the weapons, paying attention to their craftsmanship and designs. He then looks to his materials and the books in the forge. Then he’ll have to sketch things out and work on making them. A newfound wave of determination had hit him, and he  _ will _ finish these projects for Oscar, even if he needs to stay up all night to do it.

* * *

 

“...sugar, flour, eggs, berries, and milk. Yeah, that should be everything we need,” Oscar listed off to himself, checking through the things he has bought. He’s planning on making something rather special for dinner tonight, and he does not want to have to go on a sprint to the market while making food because he forgot something. Knowing life, that’ll happen anyways, because his memory likes to fail him slightly at the most inopportune of times. 

He sighed to himself, checking over how much coin he has left as he starts to walk off. Fifty gold… not bad, at least he didn’t go over his budget today, which is an impressive feat given that he had also split some of his spending money with Hiccup. Speaking of Hiccup, it’s time to go find the boy. Oscar let Hiccup explore the market alone a bit, knowing that shopping for food can be boring at times. Perhaps he should be more worried about Hiccup’s safety, but given Hiccup’s attire, that should not be a problem. Even the dumbest and youngest members of the tribe know that harming someone wearing a certain symbol could result in a one-way trip down a Whispering Death hole. 

As he walks, there’s a groundly, aromatic scent in the air, one that makes Oscar remember that he is missing an ingredient after all: cinnamon. Well, looks like there goes the rest of his spending budget after all, for cinnamon merchants are incredibly rare and so Oscar likes to stock up whenever possible. He just follows his nose, walking through the market, trailing after the scent. As he walks, he looks around, seeing if there’s anything new the merchants have. It doesn’t take him long to find the spices merchant, and when he does, Oscar shamelessly spends all of the spending money he had left on cinnamon and other rare spices. 

Upon returning to his search for Hiccup, Oscar set off on a walk across the market once more, sticking to the more smithy-related merchants, knowing that Hiccup’s focus would likely have been on those, based on what he had seen earlier. As he walks past a house, something suddenly peeks out from in between the buildings and grabs him. A hand covers his mouth, while the other grabs him around his midriff, restricting him from the left so he can’t grab his sword to defend himself. The attack is quick, too quick for anyone in the market to notice as Oscar gets dragged into the darkness and out of sight. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updating schedule may slow to a chapter every two days. 
> 
> In other news, I'm now also on [tumblr](https://polska-1999.tumblr.com/)! I will be posting my fanfic on there as well (along with other stuff), so if you have a tumblr account, feel free to follow me and reach out. I'm open to discussion about my story, and if you want to make a request for a future work, go ahead! 
> 
> As always, thank you for reading (and special thanks to DragonGirlHTTYD (Discord) and mochidrops for beta-reading!)


	11. In the Dark

_ The waves of the sea strike the boat’s hull mercilessly, with a vigor unlike anything else viking kind had witnessed. On the deck of a ship is a runt, one meant to yet not meant to die. There are other sailors on the vessel, but they pay no heed to the runt’s struggles, as if the weak link is invisible to them. The waves that crest over the side of the ship never harm the other sailors, for they are unified under one common identity. The runt does not belong to that identity, and so the demons of the seas feast on his weakness. It seems as if one more wave is all it will take to finally kill the runt… but then, something interferes. A black blur rips the runt away, carrying him off in its dreaded claws. Then, it circles back, claws now empty, runt now gone, before unleashing hell worthy of Thor’s hammer upon the deck. The loss of the runt revealed other weak links in the unity of the other sailors, and the unholy offspring of lightning and death itself wastes no time in striking those, its blasts blinding and deadly as they turn the ship and sailors to ash.  _

Astrid woke up to find herself on the ground in Gothi’s garden. She’s sprawled out on a patch of dirt, likely crushing a few plants. She has a terribly powerful headache, so much so that even the sound of her own heartbeat is annoying her. She’s face-first against the dirt, and dirt really does not taste good, but her body feels too weak to move. 

She feels something prod her back, something thin and hard, like the end of a staff. Maybe Gobber found her and is using his peg leg to see if she’s even alive. She groans slightly, hoping it’ll be enough of a response if she’s right about it being Gobber. She doesn’t get an answer, though, and the lack of a verbal response means it probably isn’t the candid blacksmith. Maybe it’s her Chief, ready to tell her off for something again, or maybe it’s a dragon that found her and is examining her with a claw, preparing to eat her. Either way, she finds herself unable to care enough as her consciousness slips away once more, as her mind is covered by a falling darkness.

* * *

As Hiccup works in the forge, he finds himself worrying about Oscar. Is the host looking for him? Gods, Hiccup hopes not. This is meant to be a present, a thank-you, and not a stressor that only upsets Oscar. Upsetting the host is the one thing Hiccup wants to avoid most, especially since it’s Oscar, the boy who has been nothing but kind to Hiccup since they first met on different sides of prison cell bars. Oscar took care of Hiccup when no one else did, giving Hiccup furs and food despite knowing the risks he was taking in committing those actions and accepting the fact that he may be held accountable for aiding a prisoner in an escape attempt as a result. 

Hiccup considers leaving the forge in favor of going out and looking for Oscar, but he decides against it for now. If he goes out, he might pass by Oscar without either of them noticing, and that would only prolong the search. Besides, he has plenty of heated metal in front of him, along with sketches and blueprints and ideas. He wants to make these presents as amazing as they can physically be, for Oscar deserves only the best after treating Hiccup so well. Hiccup doesn’t feel like a useless runt anymore; he feels like a person. A true, living, breathing person with a purpose in this world and a goal that can be accomplished rather than just dreamt about.

* * *

The next time Astrid woke up, she was in Gothi’s hut, and it was probably roughly around dinnertime. Her head still hurt like all hell, and the vision she saw is still floating in the back of her mind, refusing to let her forget. Was that a warning from the Gods, that they’re upset at how Hiccup was treated? Did they take Hiccup away, bring him to Valhalla to join his mother? Was the tribe’s treatment of Hiccup truly that bad? Do they plan on destroying Berk until there’s nothing left in retaliation? Oh gods, oh Thor, oh Odin, she had to warn everyone!

She tries to sit up abruptly, but her movements are stopped by a staff blocking her, keeping her down. Gothi, the village elder, is looking rather displeased as she keeps the girl from getting up. The elder shakes her head at the child in a disapproving fashion, not happy with what Astrid had done. Of course, this makes Astrid apologize many times. The girl can only hope that this accidental disobedience on her part doesn’t result in the wrath of the gods, for she does not want her child — a Hofferson child — to be a runt. 

However, after her apologies, Astrid’s panic sets in once more. She calls after the old lady, who had been about to leave after Astrid finished apologizing, “Gothi, wait! I saw a vision! The gods are angry; please, we have to warn the Chief! We have to tribe! There’s no time to lose!” Maybe Astrid does sound a bit frantic, but it’s for good reason. The vision she saw scared her, scarred her. 

Gothi stops in her tracks and looks at the girl. Astrid realizes the importance of this — the Gods don’t just give visions at random times, nor do they give the visions to just anyone. No, the Fates had specifically chosen Astrid to get the vision because they knew she would be sent to work for Gothi by Stoick after her argument with Snotlout. The Gods had presented the vision to her deliberately, recognizing that she is among those who have failed to defend Hiccup from the belittling the heir had endured.

* * *

After a lengthy, arduous day of chiefing, Stoick needed to sit down. 

The argument he had caught between Snotlout and Astrid still rings in his ears.  _ Then why didn’t you try preventing it or defending him, _ Snotlout had accused Astrid. It’s a very heavy accusation to make; had the circumstances been any different, Stoick would have made Snotlout defend the claim and expand on it, or perhaps force it to be stated in a less hostile and loud manner. But, the circumstances were what they were, with the Jorgenson saying nothing except the absolute yet difficult truth that no one dares to accept for fear of realization that they did not act as vikings towards Hiccup but instead as ruthless, uncivilized barbarians unfit to be part of any noble, magnanimous tribe. 

But, the past cannot be undone, and Stoick the Vast is well aware of the undeniable truth. He had been probably the worst father in the history of fathers, failing to uphold the one promise he had made to his fallen wife and then young son. If only the Gods would give him a second chance, he would learn from his mistakes and never repeat them. He would change Hiccup’s like from the torturous ordeal it had been into a life truly fit for a heir. That’s why he refuses to give up now. No body had been found, not even a bone, so no evidence exists that could say Hiccup is gone for good. Maybe if they search one last time, go on one last journey and find the dragons’ next, they could find the boy and bring him home, where he belongs. 

He’s snapped out of his thoughts by a heavy knock on the door. He grunts as he rises from his seat, walking to the door to see who could possibly still seek something of him at this time. Can’t they see that he needs time to grieve, too? Seeing Astrid Hofferson just beyond the door does nothing to make his mood better, but because of his responsibilities as Chief, he’ll hear her out before he marches her back home to her parents and asks them to put her under total house arrest for the next week. He lets the girl enter the otherwise dark and brooding house. 

Astrid notices that the house seems to be mourning the loss of one of its inhabitants, too. The walls seem darker, stiffer, and the fire no longer burns as bright as it should. The air feels stale, not reeking of death but hinting at pain, suffering, and hopelessness nonetheless. The house is silent, not giving away a single whisper; it’s holding its secrets close to its heart, and even if it knew where Hiccup was or what happened to him, it would not tell, for the house has witnessed Hiccup’s suffering, too: the sleepless nights where the father never came in to help, the cries in bed after a particularly bad day, the countless injuries the boy had to patch up on his own, the times the boy was sick to the point of delusion and no one cared for him… It reminds Astrid of that boat she had seen in the vision. 

Once she’s sitting down with the chief, Astrid wastes no time in telling Stoick the Vast about her vision. The ship, the sailors, the runt, the waves, the demon — all of it. She leaves nothing out of her account, and then once she’s done telling Stoick the facts, she tells him what she thinks it means. Stoick, of course, recognizes many of Astrid’s points… but there is one main difference. Whereas Astrid sees it as reason to stay on Berk, Stoick sees it as all the more reason to set off in search of the nest and Hiccup. In fact, the moment the Chief sends the girl off, he also drafts letters to his neighboring tribes, planning to ask for their aid. He’ll be damned if he lets those dragons get away with harming another family ever again. 

Stoick plans to shoot that specific damned demon out of the skies personally.

* * *

Oscar struggles against the grip of his captor. As soon as they were out of the public eye, Oscar knew he had to be prepared for the worst. He feigns compliance, hoping to lead his captor into a false sense of security. The moment the captor’s grip loosens just slightly, Oscar uses his full strength to twist around, now facing his kidnapper, who turns out to be clearly male. He puts one leg back to gain a steadier base before using his other leg to knee the captor in the nuts while distracting the captor with punches. It’s not until after the man cries out in pain that Oscar recognizes the dark hair and lightened bangs. 

“Mason, I swear to the Gods, next time you do that, I will send you to Valhalla personally.”

“Nice to see you, too, Oscar,” Mason rasps out, his voice a bit higher than usual from the pain. He’s uncertain if he’ll ever be able to have kids after this. He did not know what he expected when he grabbed Oscar and dragged him out of the market, but it probably wasn’t taking the equivalent of Thor’s mighty hammer to his jewels. 

“What were you thinking?” 

“I wasn’t thinking.”

“Clearly,” Oscar huffs, assessing how much damage he did. Mason got a few bruises, and of course he also got kneed in the jewels, but he looks fine otherwise. Oscar’s final conclusion is that Mason will live. “You’re lucky I didn’t grab by sword.”

“And I’m probably damn lucky you don’t have your staff, either.”

“You still owe me a new one.” 

“That’s a topic for later discussion, Oscar.” 

“Fine, what do you want?”

Mason leans his back against the wall, letting himself rest so the pain fades at least slightly. He takes a small breather for a few seconds before speaking, “Our Chief wishes to speak with Hiccup again today.”

“Then he’ll have to wait until tomorrow; Hiccup and I already have plans for tonight.” Oscar’s answer is adamant, unyielding. He refuses to renege on his arrangements with Hiccup.

“You know Viggo Grimborn doesn’t like to be kept waiting,” Mason warned, his tone acute and pointed as a growl beneath the words further illustrates his opinion on the matter at hand.

“Isn’t it your job to placate him upon delivering unfavorable news?” Oscar asks, crossing his arms. 

“Don’t push it, Oscar. I already do more things for you than you realize.”

“Then one more thing won’t kill you. Now, if you’re done wasting my time, I have someone to find,” Oscar’s voice took on a darker tone that he rarely uses. He turns on his heel, about to set off back to the market to look for Hiccup.

Mason calls after him, “he went home. Probably wanted to surprise you with something, given his interest in, say, forgework.”

Oscar stops in his tracks, clenching his fist. Mason knows where to hit where it hurts… but then again, so does Oscar. And he will use that to his advantage if needed. He turns around, walking back to Mason. “Got nothing better to do than to spy?”

“I just noticed that he was carrying back about two hundred gold’s worth of smithing materials, nothing more. Now, stay a while and chat? It’ll give him some time to work on a present for you, make him happy,” Mason persuaded with a smirk, knowing that Oscar will not be able to argue much. 

Oscar sighs. Damn Mason and the fact that he’s right. “Is this about what our Chief wants again?”

Mason hummed slightly before responding, “No, but it’s something that might interest you.”

“Oh, really?”

“Mhm… like a small hunch that I have regarding who the boy is. You want some of the info? Given our friendly streak, I might even give you more than I gave our Chief.”

Oscar considers it. He knows Hiccup must have an interesting past, and while he is incredibly interested, he also knows that he shouldn’t accept. If Hiccup finds out that Oscar has been finding stuff out about him behind his back, Hiccup may not forgive the host. The boy has clearly been hurt many times before, thus making him less likely to forgive if wronged. In the end, Oscar makes what he hopes will be the best choice in the long run, saying, “No, I’m good. I’d rather find out myself from him directly.”

Mason raises an eyebrow, commenting, “you think you can get information out of him better than our own Chief?”

“Did anyone ever tell you to screw yourself up and off?” Oscar is not too happy, clearly.

“You did, multiple times,” Mason responds, amused.

“Then maybe you should learn to listen some day.”

“I acknowledge your words but do not have any plans on following them. After all, that’s what friends are for.” 

“Don’t get sappy on me,” Oscar replied with a roll of his eyes and a small shove to Mason’s shoulder.

“What, can’t one-up me?”

“Actually, yes I can.” Oscar reaches over to mess up Mason’s hair before saying, “that’s what brothers are for.”

“Fuck you.”

“You’ll have to wait in line.”

“Behind who? Hiccup?”

“Behind your girlfriend.”

“Fuck you, Oscar. Fuck you.”

“Not here behind a building, I hope.”

Mason has no shame in saying he kicks Oscar’s shin hard, and Oscar has no shame in saying that it only made him laugh harder. It’s good to have a brother.

* * *

It was beginning to get late outside when Hiccup finally finished his projects for now and cleaned up the forge. He’s not done yet, but Oscar did mention something about dinner, so Hiccup knew he can’t just stay in the forge all night and work until dawn like he may have done otherwise. The boy is surprised that Oscar hadn’t came looking for him, though.

When Hiccup enters the house, an absolutely godly scent finds his way into his nostrils. Okay, he takes that back; maybe Oscar did come in and see Hiccup in the forge, just that Hiccup never noticed because he was too invested in working on his project for Oscar. Hiccup wastes no time in following the scent towards the kitchen, where a heavenly pie was laying on the table, cooling so it could be consumed without agonizingly burning off one’s tongue. 

“So, looks like the hermit crab finally crawled out of his shell,” Oscar teases from behind Hiccup, but once again, it’s the sort of affectionate teasing. “And here I thought you would be there all night.”

“It was tempting,” Hiccup admitted with a small laugh. 

Oscar ruffles Hiccup’s hair as he walks past, going to check on the pie. “Well, it should be good to eat now. Want a piece?”

“Is this you trying to completely spoil me?” Hiccup asked, then added, “because I could get used to it.”

Oscar laughs as he grabs the plates, grabbing a slice of pie for each of them.

That night, they feast together like kings, sharing stories of their past with one another. Oscar tells Hiccup about his first assignment as a guard, along with how, as an eleven-year-old, he had “accidentally” managed to drop a fireworm down the pants of a merchant that sold him rotten yak milk the day before… without getting in trouble for it with the Chiefs. Apparently, the Chiefs were sick of the merchant, too, so they really hadn’t given him more trouble than a “bugger off and go home, kid.” Hiccup finds out that Oscar too knows a bit about smithing, along with gardening and drawing and cartographing and so many other unique skills that would have been labeled as “runt work” on Berk but are actually well-respected here. Respected, as they should be. 

“So, stop holding me in so much suspense — how in the world did you ever get so good at forging things?” Oscar’s question, combined with the champagne they were drinking again, got Hiccup into telling all types of stories. He talks about how he wanted to fight dragons but was seen as a runt, so his dad gave him over to the tribe forgemaster so that Hiccup would be busy during raids, but then it only ended up in Hiccup learning to invent things and sneaking out during raids to try them. It gets good laughs out of them both, but there’s several things Hiccup knows to avoid mentioning — especially the incident with the Night Fury. Okay, maybe Hiccup may have slipped up and said what tribe he’s from and who the Chief of that tribe is and that he’s the heir, but so what? It’s just Oscar. Besides, Oscar didn’t ask; Hiccup said it by his own choice. Oscar doesn’t prod Hiccup for more info about anything, just as Hiccup doesn’t prod Oscar for more information about the scar lining Oscar’s neck. They each have their own secrets and must be respectful of that fact about one another, even if curiosity is a curse and is making it extremely difficult.

After they finish eating, they talk for a while, until the moon is up high in the sky and almost the entirety of the tribe is asleep. It’s Hiccup’s contagious yawn that signals the end of their conversation and urges them to head to bed. Of course, that leads to the whole back-and-forth ordeal of “no no you take the bed I’ll take the floor” that eventually leads to them deciding that Oscar’s large bed is big enough for them both to fit and sleep comfortably on. They’ll just need to get Hiccup a separate bed tomorrow, that’s all. 

Before they go to bed, Oscar has Hiccup take off his tunic so that he could examine the younger boy’s shoulder and switch out the bandages. Hiccup’s not used to having others care for his wounds, but he lets Oscar do it. Back on Berk, Hiccup always had to patch himself up, for his father never had enough time for it or Hiccup just didn’t want the man to see the wounds and think of Hiccup as even more of a weak runt. Thankfully, the wound seems to be healing well, although Oscar still puts a special salve on it that he may or may not have bribed a healer for (it’s a type of medicine reserved for the most severe of wounds and for the Chiefs). The salve numbs the site completely, which feels weird but means that Hiccup won’t wake up in pain as a result of accidentally shifting onto his bad shoulder in his sleep. Once he applies that, he bandages up Hiccup’s shoulder again and tosses Hiccup some night clothes to change into, since sleeping in normal armored clothing is not exactly comfortable all of the time.

Once they’re both settled in bed, Oscar is the one to put out the last candle as he says goodnight to Hiccup. 

It’s been a good day for the runaway Hooligan. A really good day, in fact, one far exceeding any of his days on Berk. He’d even forgotten about the whole ordeal with his injured shoulder. At some point, he just forgot about the pain and it stopped bothering him as a result because his attention was constantly elsewhere. Now, he has the medicine to keep himself from suffering through the night like he would have if he was still on Berk and received a similar wound. In some ways, he’s thankful that his escape attempt failed. If he had escaped and made it off of the island, where would he have gone? Back to Berk, to face more shame and punishment? He would have never gotten to know Oscar this well. Even that weird Mason dude was fine, really, if a bit quiet. 

For the first time in a long time, Hiccup falls into an easy, restful sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for sticking with me this far! Your reviews are all amazing. I love getting feedback, and it helps me grow as a writer in the long run. I've been getting a lot of really active readers and great comments between here and the other platforms I use, and I hope that this streak continues. Oh, and special thanks to DragonGirlHTTYD (Discord), spacekeet ([Tumblr](http://spacekeet.tumblr.com/)), and [mochidrops](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mochidrops/pseuds/mochidrops) for beta-reading!
> 
> Is there a specific character you really like in my story? Let me know! I've created a poll to ask you guys, across all of my platforms: who is your favorite character in Grim Tails? [Vote now!](https://www.strawpoll.me/15368225)


	12. The Night's Haunting

That night, Snotlout could not sleep. 

His thoughts proved insatiable in their pursuit of forcing him to face the truth. Hiccup is gone. There is no physical way that anyone, be it a runt or a Chief, could ever hope to fight against the unholy offspring of lightning and death itself and live to tell the tale. There’s perfectly viable explanation for why no one has ever killed, captured, or even spotted the dragon for more than a few seconds — it’s the physical embodiment of the fury of the Gods themselves. It’s a manifestation of their will, equally immortal and invincible as the Gods who have sent it to the mortal world as they sit on their thrones in Valhalla, watching their messenger and the humans, judging every action of every mortal. Its strikes coordinated and consistent, the demonic dragon neither neglects its duty nor misses its target. And now, the tribe’s chief, blinded by grief, has forsaken his duty to make objective decisions; instead, Stoick the Vast now lets himself get tossed by the whirling wings of the whim of emotion. 

Even Snotlout knows that the expedition the Chief plans to organize will be nothing short of mass suicide of the tribe. Every inch of the ship will be storing weapons, leaving little to no space for food. If the waters’ topmost layers suddenly freeze over, as they often do during those first intense freezes of the season, conditions will quickly become too dangerous to maneuver vessels in. The ice will be too thick to sail through and too thin to walk upon, leaving the vikings stranded and dying of hunger and thirst. 

How could the Chief be so blind to this? 

This stupid, whimsical trip may wipe out almost the entire tribe, including Snotlout’s father, who will undoubtedly be expected to join the expedition and search for the dragon’s nest, for the dragon that had killed his only nephew, his sister’s only son (even if Spitelout never liked his sister much to begin with and then never cared for his runt of a nephew anyways). 

Snotlout knows he’s not innocent in this. I mean, he spent his entire childhood making his little cousin believe he was useless for something the boy had absolutely no control over. Yeah, he was far from a warrior, now as he looks back at it; aren’t warriors supposed to protect the weak and all that? All he had done was the exact opposite, with hurting the weak instead of protecting them. Thor, it would have been better if he had been just hurting the weak; in his case, he’d been hurting his own weaker family member, someone who he should have been protecting more than anyone else. 

Why didn’t he go after Hiccup when the runt said he took down a Night Fury? I mean, yeah he doubted him, but he probably could have used it as an excuse to tease Hiccup or something, or maybe he could have even let his warrior facade slip and reveal what he should have shown Hiccup all along — some form of caring, even if it was an intermittent event that would only happen at times and behind the backs of those Hiccup and Snotlout both sought to impress. In the end, the two of them had been very similar, both seeking affection… except whereas Snotlout got at least some despite his dad being who he is, Hiccup had received none, not even from the cousin who knew what it was like to attempt and pursue the affection of others on a constant and consistent basis. 

A high-pitched screech rips Snotlout out of his thoughts. Outside of his window, there’s a brilliant flash of light and a deafening explosion. Looks like the demon decided haunting his dreams wasn’t enough, that it needed to haunt his reality, too. Outside, he can already hear the yells of the other vikings as they try and prepare for the sudden dragon raid as the harbinger of doom continues to circle in Berk’s skies.

“Night Fury!” 

“Get down!”

* * *

Astrid laid in bed, not feeling too well after the vision caused by the hallucinogenic plant in Gothi’s garden. It scared her, it really did. The fact that the Gods themselves had gone out of their way to give her such a specific message was eye-opening. It really made her think back to the argument she had with Snotlout in the forge. I mean, it was weird, especially considering that Snotlout willingly accepted the fact that he had treated Hiccup like his cousin was worth less than the dirt beneath his disgusting, ugly shoes. Then there had been Snotlout’s own accusation, that everyone had let him treat Hiccup that way… that can’t be true, right? None of them necessarily wanted Hiccup to suffer, but they also wanted him to learn to stand up for himself because he wouldn’t always have someone to protect him everywhere he went. 

And yet, shouldn’t they have helped him find ways to protect himself instead of just shoving him head-first into the dragon’s den? Their treatment of Hiccup mirrors the way Gobber started the dragon training lessons — by throwing their clueless selves into the rink and unleashing a dragon. The main difference that in Hiccup’s case, he got thrown into the rink alone and is up against something far worse than a Gronckle, like a Monstrous Nightmare or a—

A high-pitched screech rips Astrid out of her thoughts. Outside of his window, there’s a brilliant flash of light and a deafening explosion.

—like a Night Fury. 

Astrid wastes no time in getting up, throwing her armor on and grabbing her axe. She knows what that demon is here to do; her vision had warned her. Astrid refuses to let the beast tear apart her home and tribe. Aren’t they suffering enough already? She needs to help protect the village, to somehow send a message to the gods that she is Astrid Hofferson and that she is capable of change, that the village has learned its lesson and wants Hiccup back and will treat him properly once the boy is returned. She runs out of her house before her parents can stop her, knowing that she has a date with destiny.

* * *

The Night Fury circles over Berk, watching the other dragons begin the raid. He knows he is free of the Queen’s control, having been snapped out of it when he was shot down, but for some reason, he finds it difficult to leave this island. He cannot find the little lonely human anymore, and that could be for better or worse; what he can do is figure out why the little human has been so lonely. He found himself a nice little cove to sleep in whenever he’s on the island during the daytime, far enough to not be found but close enough to sometimes hear loud things from the human village. 

He came to the conclusion that the little human runt’s sire had been acting about as well as most human runts’ sires, and the dragon has seen what horrible things those sires do to their children, ranging from burning them to throwing them into the water. What, do they expect the little runts to suddenly become fireproof dragon hatchlings? He will never understand humans. 

He feels the Queen’s call, but he defiantly ignores it, perfectly happy to have his own will and do what he wants. He’d been under her influence for far too long, since he was a hatchling and his mother accidentally flew into the Queen’s range while trying to escape some very bad humans. He doesn’t even remember where home is, and he hasn’t seen another one of his kind in so long. There’s plenty of spike-spines and flame-skins and boulder-eaters, but no night-wings. His mother had disappeared not long after the first few weeks, leaving the hatchling alone. The other dragons had told him she may come back, but whenever they said it, there was always a sad glint in their eyes. As he got older, the dragon learned what must have happened to his mother — the same what happens to any dragon that fails to bring in their quota. 

His sense of debt to the little human that shot him free of the Queen’s control and then let him fly away without killing him only aids him in avoiding falling under the Queen’s control. The little human suffered as a youngling, just as he did, except unlike the dragon, the human hatchling never gained respect. The more the dragon finds out about the little human hatchling runt’s life, the clearer it becomes why the human left, and with each thing the dragon finds out, he only becomes more infuriated. 

He watches as the humans below scurry around, trying to defend their abundance of food from the dragons that are gathering food for the greedy Queen. Why do the humans hurt them? Why can’t they kill the Queen instead? Right… they’d run scared if they saw her, or at least that’s what the black dragon thinks bitterly. He shoots a blast at a pole, knocking it down to prevent a flame-skin from getting captured by a net. Then, he takes back to the skies, this time far out of shooting range, and watches, waiting for the perfect moment…

There. The little human’s sire, the humans’ Alpha, had left his home. The dragon narrowed his eyes. As much as he’d like to kill the bad Alpha human and be done with it, the little runt may be sad because of it because they’re still blood-related. And so, the dragon settles for the second-best thing, diving down and charging the most powerful blast he could muster before releasing his entire fury onto the empty house. He then quickly takes back to the skies, flying away while chortling to himself. Yes, that should be good punishment. If the Alpha can’t treat its own offspring properly, then it deserves no nest.

* * *

Stoick left his house as soon as he could once the raid started. He needed to — he’s the Chief, for Thor’s sake! Besides, the damned demon had also made its appearance, that much was obvious based on the explosion, shrill screech, and the yells of “Night Fury!” ringing around the entire village. Stoick can’t remember the last time something made his blood boil as much as the return of that wretched demon. Itr already took his son; what else did it want? Whatever, Stoick will use this as an opportunity to take down the damned beast once and for all. 

Stoick only makes it down the path from the house when he hears the screech. The dragon is diving, attacking… this may be Stoick’s best chance to hit it! Stoick turns around, axe ready… and then he sees his house for the final time before it is consumed by a blinding flash of light. There’s an intense explosion as the entire building is decimated, turned into nothing but rubble and ash. In his shock, Stoick forgets to even throw his axe at the silhouette, which is gone before Stoick can even get a good look at it. 

Stoick helps with the rest of the raid, but it’s the sort of aid that is driven by pure, uncontrollable fury. Once the raid is over, he stumbles towards the remnants of his home, paying no mind to the fact that the entire village had gathered around behind him in order to see what happened. The building was completely decimated, with nothing surviving the blast. None of his things, none of Hiccup’s things, none of Valka’s things. It’s all… gone. Gone, and never to be replaced again, just like the hole in his heart is never to be mended. These beasts truly desire for him to have nothing left. They seek to leave him a bare man, desolate of any belongings, identity, hope. Stoick refuses to be put down like a sick yak — this end, here and now. Those beasts have assaulted his home for far too long without proper retaliation. Now, they shall learn the meaning of suffering when their home is destroyed just as his had been: mercilessly.

* * *

Hiccup had truly expected the night to be calm and peaceful. Alas, this proved to not be the case, for at some point in the night, while the moon was high in the sky and its light filtered into the room and created silhouettes in the otherwise total darkness, a blood-chilling scream suddenly and ferociously pulls Hiccup from the safety and comfort of his dreams, dreams in which he earns the love and respect of his tribemates. The rather rude awakening is something he could have really done without, but upon realizing what had awoken him, concern overtakes anger, and Hiccup immediately rolls over to face his host, who is sitting up in bed and breathing rather heavily, a hand resting against the scar on his neck. Hiccup can hear the held-back choked tears and sobs hiding behind Oscar’s heavy breaths. 

Hiccup almost asks what’s wrong, but he decides that words would not help in this moment. Instead, he sits up and carefully reaches over and rests his hand on Oscar’s arm for a moment. When the host doesn’t flinch away, Hiccup shifts closer and gives the boy a comforting hug, ignoring the pain that begins to flare in his wounded shoulder. Oscar had done so much for Hiccup: cared for him, taken him in, given his life a new meaning. Now, it’s time for Hiccup to start returning the favor. Hiccup doesn’t ask what the dream was about; Oscar probably wouldn’t say anyways, and that’s totally okay. They each have their own secrets, after all, and Oscar is clearly in no condition nor mood to talk about this. Hiccup just helps Oscar calm down as best as he could, trying to remind the boy that they’re home and safe, and that nothing will happen to Oscar. 

At some point, as Hiccup is comforting Oscar, a third silhouette suddenly slips into the room. Hiccup had the urge to scream and yell, but it turns out to only be that weirdly silent guard, Mason. He must have heard Oscar from outside or something and decided to come in and make sure everything was okay. Oscar seems well-liked around here, really, especially if other people care enough to sneak into his home and make sure he’s okay. Gods, there’s nothing Hiccup wouldn’t have done to get a similar situation back on Berk…

Mason takes control of the situation, lighting a candle as he asks Hiccup to get Oscar a glass of milk. Something tells Hiccup that this is far from the first time Mason has done this for Oscar. As Hiccup gets the milk, he realizes that maybe he has a lot in common with the boy with the dark hair and light bangs — despite their age difference, they would both do anything necessary to protect the Oscar from harm. Hiccup returns with the milk rather  quickly, not letting himself get too lost in thought. 

Mason is sitting on the bed with Oscar, letting the young raven-haired boy lean against him. Mason whispers something to Oscar, but Hiccup cannot hear what. He doesn’t pry, instead handing Oscar the glass of milk with a sincere hope that the boy is okay, that whatever nightmare it was will pass without leaving any lasting damage. Once Hiccup does that, he takes a seat on the other side of the bed, sitting on the edge so that the other two have room. Mason motions for Hiccup to scoot closer, though, and Hiccup does not hesitate to follow that order.

It seems that their presence helps calm Oscar. His breathing is steady once more, and most of the fear of whatever nightmare he had is gone from his face. However, Hiccup still notices that Oscar’s dark eyes hold something sinister, something far darker than anything Hiccup has seen from the otherwise light-hearted boy. It worries Hiccup greatly, but he tries not to let it show, for his worry may only affect Oscar adversely. Instead, he keeps to himself, hoping that things will be explained in due time.

Mason and Hiccup both stay up until Oscar falls asleep between them, and they stay up a bit after that too, just to make sure Oscar hadn’t fallen right back into a nightmare. Hiccup is the next one sleep grabs with its mighty dominating claws, and when he finds his that eyelids have become too heavy for him to keep his eyes open, he feels Mason throw a blanket over all of them so they don’t get cold. Hiccup falls back into a peaceful sleep, but he continues to find himself unsettled by what he saw in Oscar’s eyes. Perhaps the kind-hearted boy has demons, ones far stronger than anyone could imagine, trying to tear him apart from the inside piece by piece… and Hiccup cannot allow that. Mason clearly knows what he’s doing already, and Hiccup hopes to learn from him so that together they can keep Oscar safe, no matter the cost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delayed update! Unfortunately, I will not be able to update once a day anymore. The schedule will slow to once every two or three days, as writing several thousands words a day on top of other life stuff was difficult to manage.
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy this chapter! It's been a long time coming, and we finally see a bit of Toothless once more. We also get a little bit with Oscar and Hiccup (and Mason). I know it's very little, but I promise that we'll see more of them in the upcoming chapters!
> 
> Thank you all for reading! I love the comments and amazing support I have been receiving for this story. We're going to be hitting some more action-packed parts soon, so hold onto your seats!


	13. The Glory of Dawn, Part 1

“What do you mean, ‘keep him’!?” Ryker demanded to know. 

The two brothers sat together for breakfast, conversing about the news Mason had brought them the previous day. For one reason or another, the boy refused to bring Hiccup Haddock to their castle for dinner. Ryker could not care less for Mason’s reasoning; he’s all too familiar with the game Viggo plays, and everyone in the castle knows that Mason is Viggo’s star player (or at least one of Viggo’s star players). Trying to understand half the things Mason says results in only a migraine at best and three days of sleep loss at worst. Perhaps this had been for the better, for it gives the brothers time to figure out what to do with the boy. 

“I mean exactly what I said, dear brother,” Viggo responds, not seeking to expand on the topic much further.

“He can be used to bargain with his tribe. We could get whatever we want from them in return for him,” Ryker says with a frown creating creases on his face. “Keeping him here will only bring us more trouble if they find out.”

“Precisely, brother — if. Tell me, how often do we have contact with his tribe?” Viggo asks, knowing the answer already. 

“One of the merchants could spread rumor,” Ryker points out.

“The only merchant group whose members work on both our island and theirs has already sworn secrecy, dear brother,” Viggo reveals.  

“You’ve been planning this already,” Ryker accuses, realizing that Viggo already has this all planned out. 

“Indeed I have. After all, it’s not every day a boy with his talents gets dropped on our doorstep.”

“We already have plenty of smiths and artists. Too many, if you ask me. He’s unnecessary to us,” Ryker growls.

“Patience, brother,” Viggo chides, “all shall be revealed soon enough.”

Ryker’s grip on his fork tightens, almost bending the utensil as he realizes what Viggo is playing at. It’s a dumb, stupid move in the older brother’s opinion. Ryker almost accuses his younger brother of something, but he holds back, knowing that such an accusation would likely cause an irreparable rift between them. It’s a sensitive topic, one of the few sensitive topics that exist when talking about Viggo Grimborn. Ryker’s unspoken words hang in the air regardless.

_ “Is this one of your sick attempts to groom yourself a new heir to replace the one you lost?” _

Viggo does not address the unspoken question. It is unclear if he does not feel it or simply chooses not to address it. Either way, his appetite had disappeared a bit suddenly, leaving him picking at the food on his plate boredly, mind lost in thought somewhere far beyond the room they are in, perhaps beyond the castle and even the island itself.

* * *

When Stoick was told that a set of ships arrived in port, he could not thank the Gods more for the amazing timing… that is, until he discovered that they were not the ships of the allied tribes he had called for and instead belonged to Trader Johann of the Emerald Isles. Nevertheless, he welcomed Johann onto Berk, trying to make himself look as presentable as possible to the respected and loved merchant. Johann has plenty of wild stories to tell, as is common whenever he stops by on Berk. Alas, Johann notices something far sooner than Stoick had hoped.

At one point while talking about wrestling a giant squid for its ink, Johann pauses, looking around before focusing his gaze on Stoick, “Chief Stoick, pardon me for asking, but where is Master Hiccup? He will be heartbroken to discover he did not get to hear this story!”

Stoick sighs, wishing time could just freeze and stay frozen, or perhaps unwind itself and undo the terrible tragedy. He places a hand on Johann’s shoulder and says with a somber tone, “Hiccup’s gone, Johann.” He pauses, getting himself together before continuing, giving a tiny explanation, “dragon raid.”

“Oh, oh dear…” Johann’s voice falters, becoming quieter as he speaks. “That’s truly unfortunate, dear friend. He was a wonderful boy. My deepest condolences go out to you, Stoick. Please, if there is any way I could help in lessening the suffering, let me know!”

“Thank you, Johann, for everything you do for my tribe.”

Gobber watches from a distance, not wanting to disturb the Chief. The events of the night haunt Stoick still, and despite Stoick’s flare of anger immediately after his house was destroyed, the man’s response has since mellowed from exhaustion, letting despair and depression sink into the place hatred and anger occupied. Gobber worries for his old friend; it is difficult to keep secret that Hiccup left Berk and sailed off instead of being captured by a dragon, but Gobber knows he cannot betray the boy, no matter how difficult keeping the secret is. 

Once the initial meeting between the trader and chief is complete, the other members of the tribe slowly begin to file in onto the boat to examine the wares the merchant brought from lands both near and distant. Gobber in particular hangs around, not only interested in wares but also hopeful that maybe Johann had passed by Hiccup or seen the boy. Although, based on the merchant’s reaction when Stoick told Johann that Hiccup is gone, Gobber realizes that it’s likely a false hope.

Gobber looks at some wares half-heartedly before decided to head back to the forge, but before he can leave, he hears Johann calling after him, “Mister Gobber, wait! I have an important delivery for you!”

Gobber turns around with a sigh. He doesn’t remember ordering anything from Johann last time, but then again, his memory isn’t the best. “Ye do, eh?”

“Indeed! You asked me to find it so long ago, but by the Gods, no matter how hard I searched, no one had these until only recently!” Johann approaches Gobber with a book. He hands it to the blacksmith, stating proudly, “here you go:  _ The Strategy of Acid _ , one of Forgemaster Yoana’s rarest yet most useful publications, delivered straight from her forge!”

Gobber nods solemnly as he takes the book. He remembers it, now — he had asked Johann to look for this book over a year ago because Hiccup had wanted it. Well, it’s already paid for, and even if Hiccup left, Gobber still wants it to be here just in case the boy decides to return home. “Thank ye, Jo’ann.”

As Gobber left, Johann knew his job was done; he did what he had been asked to do by Hiccup Haddock, and did so successfully, as he knew he would. Now, he had his own agenda to fulfill, and selling off as many of his wares as possible was included in that.

* * *

When Hiccup wakes up, he finds himself alone in bed. Memories from the night come back to him, and if he strains his ears, he can hear talking. Looks like Mason and Oscar woke up before him and decided to let him sleep in. It’s a nice gesture, although Hiccup does wish slightly that they woke him up so he could help with breakfast at least a bit. Hiccup quickly changes out of his nightclothes and into his normal daytime attire (well, the attire Oscar let him have). Judging by the smell hanging in the air, breakfast is ready for consumption.

As he enters the eating area, he hears Mason and Oscar chatting. 

“...and I don’t think there’s any way I can throw a positive spin on the news when I report it to the Chiefs,” Mason says to Oscar, neither of them having noticed Hiccup yet. They have food on their plates in front of them (looks like fish is on the menu for breakfast today) but neither of them is eating. They are too invested in their conversation, which does seem rather serious.

“No, I know what you mean,” Oscar responds, “you’ll probably just need to use timing to your advantage, or at the very least make sure neither of them is in a bad mood when you report.”

“Oh, believe me, I know that from experience,” Mason laughs slightly, despite the severity of the topic at hand. 

“Uh, good morning,” Hiccup tries to join into the conversation, hoping it’s not too awkward.

“Looks like the Sleeping Beauty finally woke up,” Oscar jokes. 

“Oscar was telling me about you earlier,” Mason comments, taking a sip of whatever drink he has in his mug.

“Oh, now you’re playing ‘throw Oscar under the yak cart’ again?” Oscar questions with an eye roll. 

“Only doing my job,” Mason responds with a smirk. 

Oscar sighs, looking to Hiccup, “grab some food and sit with us.”

Hiccup accepts the invite, a bit curious as to what Mason said. Oscar talking about him? Why? Hiccup trusts Oscar, but at the same time, there’s a pesky part of him that is still worried about being betrayed. Coincidentally, it’s the part of him that’s also homesick, and the part that Hiccup is slowly but surely learning to ignore. Nonetheless, once Hiccup has his plate and is sitting at the table, he asks curiously, “so, what’d Oscar have to say about me?”

“He called you an sweet cinnamon roll,” Mason says off-handedly.

“Mason, stop twisting my words,” Oscar comments, shaking his head. 

“Okay, fine, he said you were adorable and the best guest he could ask for and he hopes you’ll stay,” Mason corrected. “Better?”

Oscar glares daggers at Mason. Clearly, some parts of that comment were supposed to stay secret. 

Hiccup… he has no clue what to say. Honestly, the cinnamon roll comment was probably the easier one for him to respond to compared to Mason’s correction. Well, he already knew at least that Oscar doesn’t hate him, but finding out that Oscar actually enjoys Hiccup’s company is a totally different thing. And wanting Hiccup to stay? That’s… that’s a really big decision. Hiccup hasn’t repaid Oscar for anything yet, and here the host wants the boy to stay anyways. It’s an honor, but a difficult decision nonetheless given that Hiccup still feels the tug of homesickness. He misses Gobber, and his dad, and so on… but he also has it so much better here! Why go back there and go back to the miserable life he has lived there?

“I, uh…” Hiccup tries to find the right words for this. He takes a bite of his food and chews it, buying himself a bit more time before having to answer. He swallows his food before speaking again, “thanks, I guess? And I wouldn’t want to stay and cause you trouble, but… I mean, if you want me to stay, I guess I could?...”

“You should probably decide soon; the Chiefs wanna talk to you today, and I’d wager this is part of it.” Again, more off-handed comments from Mason. He’s really not giving Oscar a chance to speak, is he?

“Oh,” is all Hiccup had to say. 

“I wouldn’t worry about that yet. For now, enjoy breakfast,” Oscar says. 

Mason looks like he’s about to speak again, but there’s a thud under the table, and Mason shuts up with a small hiss of pain. Oscar has a small but satisfied smirk, and Hiccup can’t help but laugh slightly at their dynamics. 

As they eat, no one brings up the events of the night, which Hiccup finds a bit odd but understandable. Oscar probably doesn’t want to share what that was about, and it seems like Mason already knows and needs no explanation. Hiccup might be tempted to ask, but in reality, he also doesn’t want to ruin this comfortable, calm peace that has fallen over them as they ate breakfast.

At one point, another conversation starts up, this one initiated by (surprise, surprise) Mason.

“So, ready for training today?”

“Yeah, right. About as ready as I can be without my main weapon,” Oscar responds, a bit bitterly. Hiccup listens carefully here — more info about Oscar and his fighting style could help him make his gifts, after all.

“Still haven’t gotten the staff fixed?” Mason asks, feigning surprise. 

“I’ve had more important things to do,” Oscar responds, looking to Hiccup. 

Hiccup thinks back to how much work he finished last night. Good thing the staff is the first thing he choose to work on, then. “You know, if we stop by the forge for a few minutes, I could probably help arrange something so your staff will be ready,” Hiccup suggests. 

“As long as a ‘few minutes’ is actually a few minutes and not several hours,” Oscar says, referring to Hiccup’s adamant attempts at reading an entire book in one sitting when they first went to the forge as part of the tour.

Hiccup laughs sheepishly, saying, “yeah, I’ll do my best regarding that. I’ll still want to work on it more afterwards, but it should hold through in battle.”

Oscar nods, commenting approvingly, “sounds good to me.”

“Of course he takes your side,” Mason mutters about Hiccup. With Oscar having his staff back, Mason might just have his ass handed to him.

“Scared, Mas’?” Oscar teases gently.

“Of you? Never,” Mason huffs, as if it’s obvious. “I call Forge Boy making me a new weapon after this too, though.”

“Get in line and pay up, then,” Oscar jokes.

Mason takes a bag of coins out of his pocket and tosses it on the table, in front of Hiccup. “You’ll get a bonus if my weapon can break Oscar’s.”

“Don’t make me kick you again. You’re the one who’s at fault for me needing a new staff in the first place.”

“Just don’t knee me in the jewels again or I will complain to the Chief that you are the sole reason I can’t have kids.”

Needless to say, breakfast with Oscar and Mason proves to be an interesting experience. Mason seems to open up a whole different side to Oscar, and not necessarily in a bad way. It makes the dark-eyed boy more… childish, more like someone his age. Oscar acts really mature otherwise, almost too mature, and it makes Hiccup wonder what happened to make Oscar act this way. Despite the childishness and the friendly teasing he is currently displaying, however, Oscar is still clearly himself, not meaning to cause harm with his gentle jokes and prods. Likewise, Oscar makes the seemingly professional guard slip into vulgarities and jokes, which is an interesting side of Mason that Hiccup did not expect to ever see. Hiccup felt intimidated when he first met Mason, really — he was quiet, mysterious, powerful. Now? Mason seems like a big snuggle toy, someone you’d want for babysitting if he didn’t swear. At the same time, though, Hiccup must remember that Mason is someone powerful in this tribe’s hierarchy, someone akin to Gobber in terms of not only rank but also how much the Chief trusts them.

As amazing as it is to hang out with them, Hiccup is a bit more wary of his words around Mason, a bit thankful he chose to not drink something alcoholic alongside breakfast. Oscar trusts Mason, but Mason is still a high-ranking member of the tribe, and until Hiccup has an idea of how the tribe will react upon discovering his status as a tribe heir, he will keep his cards closer around the guard than he does around his host. Of course, Hiccup has no way of knowing that Mason already knows plenty on the topic, more than Hiccup could ever imagine. 

As the breakfast conversation breathes in and out, changing topic with almost every breath, Hiccup tries to think of what he should do. As Mason revealed, Oscar would like for Hiccup to stay, and with every passing moment and considered circumstance, the offer is becoming more and more enticing. Hiccup isn’t sure he could leave if he wanted to, for attempting to say goodbye to Oscar would surely shatter not only himself but also the kind host who has done absolutely nothing to harm Hiccup and everything to help him. 

After breakfast, the trio stops by the forge. As promised, Hiccup takes a few minutes to put together Oscar’s staff. He’ll add the cool, unique features later. For now, though, they need to head to the giant castle that towers over the village and speak to the chiefs of the tribe. Hiccup can only hope for the best from this conversation, that he doesn’t mess anything up. And if the Chiefs ask Hiccup to stay, even if the bald Chief still doesn’t like Hiccup much, then Hiccup will find a way to live with it, for the situation is still far better than what his life had been like on Berk. 

It doesn’t matter that he’s no longer a heir or anything if he joins the Hunters. I mean, why be a heir in a place you’re despised when you could be a respected member of the community without being a heir somewhere else? Hiccup glances at Oscar as they walk. Yeah, if the Chiefs do offer to let him stay, he’ll probably be taking that offer. Living with Oscar, working in the forge right next door, going to the garden when he needs to clear his head, no longer having to worry about malicious teasing and being worthless… Hiccup cannot remember a single time on Berk he has ever felt as free as he feels now, and this is despite the fact that he’s going to meet the chiefs of the tribe for a discussion that may just decide his fate. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The build-up for a deciding moment, some returning characters, a secret revealed... This chapter has plenty of important things going on, and the same will hold true for the following chapter as well. We'll see a lot more of the Grimbros in the second half of this two-part chapter. I hope that the breakfast scene with Mason and Oscar helped add a bit of a relief from the heavier topics being presented. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading, bookmarking, and leaving comments/kudos!


	14. The Glory of Dawn, Part 2

Oscar and Mason walk on either side of Hiccup as the trio enters the castle. Guards sometimes cast them sidelong glances, but a glare from Mason shuts up anyone who may have anything to say against their presence. Oscar glances at Hiccup from time to time to make sure the boy isn’t uncomfortable or anything, but thankfully, Hiccup’s too busy looking around at the castle itself to notice the guards acting how they are. Oscar knows that some of the guards envy Hiccup, just as they always envy Mason for his salary. Many of the guards are natives of the tribe, and yet here’s an ex-prisoner foreigner who is being spoiled by a rich kid and the Grimborns’ kiss-ass right-hand man. 

The group enters the main throne room together. Hiccup’s eyes instinctively avoid the gaze of the older, stronger chief, the bald one that seems to be glaring at only Hiccup as the group of three guys enter the room. The foreign boy doesn’t know what to do, what manners are expected of him, and he doesn’t want to make himself look like a disrespectful fool, not in front of both Chiefs. Instead of looking at the Chief that probably still doesn’t like him much, Hiccup’s gaze meets that of the younger, not-bald Chief, the one Hiccup knows he has some level of favor with. 

It is the younger Chief that welcomes them with a greeting, but Hiccup must shamefully admit to himself that he had not been paying enough attention at the moment to catch it; something about the Chief’s wise yet cunning gaze told him that the greeting had been largely meant for him, too, and Hiccup’s failure makes the boy break eye contact with those kobicha eyes. When Oscar and Mason respond with their own respectful greeting, Hiccup finds himself mumbling it along with them, hoping it sounds okay but knowing it probably doesn’t. Oh Odin, Hiccup needs this to go well no matter what, and he’s already screwing up… 

The younger of the two Chiefs rises from his seat, approaching the trio; the older bald Chief follows a few steps behind, but never taking the lead despite being the elder. It’s an interesting sight, especially to Hiccup — Viggo Grimborn had not been joking when he said that the hierarchy in the tribe relies on more than just age or physical strength. The younger Chief turns his head slightly to cast a glance at his brother before looking over the group. “Ryker, take Mason and Oscar out to the courtyard for their training,” he commands. 

Hiccup is pretty sure he sees the older Chief glare and almost growl at the younger counterpart, but he follows the order nonetheless, leading Oscar and Mason out. As a result, Hiccup is left alone with the younger Chief, which is good and bad. Hiccup knows he has some favor with this Chief, but that also means that he risks losing it as a result. Hiccup tries to speak, but no words come out when he opens his mouth; he is fully aware of the fact that he probably looks like an idiot, too, so he closes his mouth and ends up giving the Chief a slightly sheepish smile, establishing eye contact once more as emerald meets kobicha. 

“There’s no reason for you to be nervous, my dear Hiccup,” Viggo says, his words reassuring to the boy as they echo slightly against the stone walls of the gargantuan chamber, their tone seemingly magnanimous. “After all, we have already established most formalities during our last conversation.” 

Hiccup finds himself only able to nod in reply, uncertain of what to say. He wishes he could say something, anything, but he’s too terrified of messing up this chance. The response seems satisfactory enough to the Chief, thankfully. 

“Come, walk with me.” 

Hiccup is not given a choice to argue as the Chief leads him away, an arm resting atop Hiccup’s shoulders for a few seconds. At first, Hiccup finds this action to be even more nerve-wracking, but after a few moments, he begins to calm down, his mind clearing and voice finding its way back to its proper place. Viggo soon removes his arm from around Hiccup’s shoulders, as if knowing that the action has helped the boy sufficiently. The way the Chief is treating him shows that he is not considered an enemy; rather, he is seen as an acquaintance, perhaps even an ally or friend. In other words, it means Hiccup’s previous blunders did not ruin his chances, and that he may yet be given the option to stay. 

Hiccup remains unaware to the small changes in his body language as he walks, but Viggo notices them all too well. Hiccup’s shoulders have risen from their slight hunch and into a more proud posture; likewise, Hiccup’s back strengthened, making his short height a bit less pitiful. His steps grow more confident, falling in line with Viggo’s comfortably, while his eyes unglue themselves from their staring contest with the floor and focus mostly ahead. The boy does not notice the small smirk that tugs at Viggo’s lips for a moment, the smirk that extends up and allows Viggo’s cunningness to flash across those dark kobicha eyes. He has the boy right where he wants, perfectly positioned for the next phases of his plan. He allows his smirk to fade, opting for a more neutral expression as he holds his hands behind his back before addressing the boy once more. “Oscar and Mason have treated you well, I trust?”

Having found his voice back, Hiccup goes for a casual but honest response, saying, “better than well.” He almost rants about it, but he manages to bite back any further comments. After all, he has to maintain some appearance of maturity, even if he suspects that Viggo Grimborn can read him like an open book. 

Sure enough, Viggo hears the hesitation as Hiccup barely manages to stop himself from spilling all details about his stay. Viggo trusts his tribe, especially people like Mason and Oscar, but only to a certain degree. So far, between Mason’s reports and Oscar’s matter of conduct towards the boy, their results have proven nothing short of promising; however, Viggo knows that the smallest mistake in these foundations could bring the entire plan to an unceremonious collapse, an unnecessary risk he finds himself unwilling to take. After all, sacrifices must be made, but if made carelessly, they will only contribute to one’s downfall, just as they do in Maces and Talons. And so, Viggo asks the question, “is that so?”

At the prod of encouragement, Hiccup finds himself talking in great tandem about his experiences in the tribe and with Oscar. The meals, the tour, the shopping trip, everything is mentioned. Hiccup rants about how he wants to somehow return the favor for everything that has been done for him and begin repaying his debts slowly, starting with fixing and modifying and enhancing Oscar’s weapons and so on. He even finds himself divulging about the situation at night, with Oscar’s nightmare and how he had been so worried for Oscar and how he was so thankful that Mason showed up to help, too, even if it had been a bit terrifying to suddenly find another person in the room. 

Viggo finds that perhaps Oscar had done better of a job than the Chief expected. Hiccup not only trusts the tribe but has also created a bond with Oscar, meaning the boy will find it much more difficult to leave due to the ties he has formed, the ties that have taken root and will hold him down much tighter if things go wrong later. Just as Viggo punishes disobedience and failure, he must also praise and reward success, but that is for another time. Right now, he must build off of the base his star players in this game have created, even if his own brother finds these methods questionable. Ryker simply does not understand the situation, that is all. Viggo is not stealing the boy away from his home; he is inviting the boy into a new home because people on the island the boy comes from lacked the ability to appreciate proper talent and strength beyond the physical. 

There is a childlike happiness around Hiccup as the boy finishes his accounts of recent events with a smile on his face. If Viggo had to bet, he would say that Hiccup’s smile is brighter than any the boy has had on his old island in several years. Undoubtedly, there’s still ties tugging on the boy, wanting him to return home, but Viggo knows those ties are weakening slowly but surely, their strength overshadowed by the bonds beginning to tie Hiccup to the Hunters. The boy is happy here, his inner ingenuity awakening from its dormant state, stimulated by the gentle prods of curiosity that have replaced the cold, hard blows of rejection and apathy that almost destroyed the boy’s inner spark. Like Oscar, Hiccup Haddock’s talents lie beyond the vikings’ realm of acceptability and appreciation; a shame, really, for it only highlights the vikings’ nearsightedness in terms of strategy. Unlike most conventional vikings, Viggo recognizes the strength of the mind; it takes plenty of physically strong and capable warriors to win a battle, but it requires one or few mentally strong individuals to win wars and maximize profits. As far as he’s concerned, and assuming that Mason’s reports are correct and get confirmed by their outside sources, the Hooligan tribe of Berk could have easily became one of the Archipelago’s most powerful and respected tribes in a decade or two if they did not give up their most valuable asset. Oh well, it’s their loss now, and Viggo promises to take good care in making sure that their loss reaps maximal benefit for his own tribe. 

“Do you miss your old home?” Viggo asks, knowing most of the answer to this already but wanting to hear what the boy has to say. 

Hiccup stutters a bit as he responds, “uh, yeah, I guess… I miss Gobber, he’s the one that taught me everything I knew about working in the forge. And I miss my dad a bit, even if he wasn’t always the best at, you know, being a dad… and Fishlegs, who was at least nice to me sometimes… and Astrid, even if she never liked me back or noticed me…”

A romantic interest, one of the few things Viggo had hoped would not be part of the equation. No matter — the boy said it himself that the girl had not noticed him and likely meant little to him. It’s not the hassle Viggo had with Mason when the loyal guard had fallen head over heels and got into an active relationship with a girl from another tribe; needless to say, that is a situation Viggo would rather avoid repeating. Nevertheless, the situation is not bad; the boy’s bonds are slowly weakening and dissolving, given that the boy does not mention any other members of his tribe as significant. 

As Viggo leads Hiccup up a staircase, the Chief asks, “Forgive me if this question seems sudden, but would you like to stay on the island, become part of the tribe?” Viggo’s question makes Hiccup feel like time has stopped, but the Chief is not done speaking yet. He adds confidently,  “I do not wish for you to make this decision hastily. At the moment, time is not of the essence; given the nature of the decision, it is imperative for you to think, weigh out your options.”

Hiccup only gives a small nod of understanding in response as they reach the top of the staircase. They find themselves at a large door, and Viggo pushes it open, revealing quite the view. They step out onto a large stone balcony, one overlooking a courtyard or garden of sorts. Hiccup finds himself copying Viggo’s actions as the younger Grimborn walks over to lean against the railing and watch the events playing out below them, in the courtyard. 

“Mason, guard your left,” came the older Chief’s voice from below. In the garden, Mason and Oscar are training, with Mason wielding a pair of curved, wickedly sharp swords and Oscar using the staff Hiccup made. Ryker is watching them, giving commands as he notices repeated errors in the pair’s fighting techniques. “Oscar, watch your feet. At this rate, you’ll trip over them and go down without your enemy needing to strike you.”

Hiccup finds himself mesmerized by the dance Mason and Oscar are partaking in. Every one of Mason’s strikes corresponds to a shift of Oscar’s staff or position, and every hit or dodge Oscar performs matches a strike or block on Mason’s part. Mason relies largely on his strength and size, easily blocking and parrying any of Mason’s attempts to harm him. Likewise, Oscar also uses his size, but in a different way — his much smaller build means there’s less of a target zone to strike, and when combined with his speed, he is practically impossible to hit. The usage of a staff allows Oscar to have a much greater range, meaning he doesn’t even need to be within Mason’s striking distance to have a chance to attack. 

The training is going well, and despite the even match, it seems that Mason might just win. However, Oscar fakes an attack and instead suddenly rolls back, taking a small slingshot out from a hidden spot on his armor as he lets his staff rest at his feet. He loads a small pebble from the ground and fires. Mason was not prepared for such an attack or change of weapon, and despite his best attempt to block with his blades, the small rock nails him in the face, surprising him enough to cause him to fall out of the battle’s rhythmic dance. Within a second, Oscar has Mason disarmed, one sword on the ground while the other is in Oscar’s hand, its tip pointed at Mason’s neck. Mason looks up, eyes meeting Oscar’s; they both know who the victor is. 

After holding such a position for three seconds, Oscar steps away, handing the sword back to Mason and bowing. Mason returns the bow respectfully, honorably, before going to grab his other sword. After the bow, Oscar picks up his staff from the ground, making sure it did not suffer too much damage before attaching it to its rightful place in the sheath on his back. Ryker huffs slightly as he watches Oscar pick up and put away the small slingshot. As far as he’s concerned, the shot was a cheap move, a cheater’s way out. Alas, his younger brother sees such acts as simply taking advantage of presented opportunities such as one’s surroundings. Ryker knows his brother is up on the balcony, watching, and frankly, he’d rather avoid conflict with the younger Grimborn right now, especially in the presence of their guest, the very guest that Viggo would likely harm Ryker over if the older brother was to mess up the younger’s “brilliant” plan. The older brother chooses to simply declare that the training boys may take a break before leaving the area himself for now. He does not care much to be around when the results of his brother’s plan make themself apparent. 

Hiccup finds himself speechless after watching that. The beauty of the gardens, the grace with which the two fought, the victory of the seemingly weaker over the stronger… it’s all too much and yet not enough — Hiccup wants to be able to experience this himself, too. He pushes himself away from the balcony railing slightly, turning to face the younger Chief, who has done the same. Hiccup cannot imagine leaving this behind him to return to the way he has lived life on Berk. Vikings don’t change, after all; the Hooligan tribe will likely continue stubbornly sticking to the “strong viking way” for centuries, even if it causes pointless deaths that could be easily prevented. Hiccup knows how most runts end up in viking tribes, how he would have ended up had it not been for his mother and father being who they were. What he did not know before now was that places exist where runts are not sent to die, where runts can survive without being heirs or babies with unusually forgiving vikings as their parents. And now that he has found such a place, a place where he can actually be a person instead of being perpetually labeled as a runt until Ragnarok, he refuses to let go of this opportunity. 

It takes plenty of self control for Viggo to not allow a smirk to surface. He’s all too aware of how perfectly this has gone down, of how his hard work has paid off. The boy has made his decision, a decision that took no small feat to accomplish on Viggo’s end. Viggo knows that his star players in this game also await the news with a silent eagerness in the courtyard below the stone balcony. 

“You’ve made your decision, I trust?”  

Hiccup takes a deep breath as determined emerald meets confident kobicha, and Hiccup knows that saying the answer they both already know is nothing more than formality now. 

“Yes,” Hiccup says without a hint of hesitation in his voice as the sun’s rays illuminate the balcony from the East, from the direction of new beginnings and new hopes. He speaks with the Gods as his witnesses and the glory of dawn as his strength. “I accept your offer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over 900 hits! This is insane! Thank you all so much for reading, and for commenting and dropping kudos and bookmarking! Grim Tails was never actually supposed to turn out this long, and I never expected it to get more than, say, a hundred hits at most, but you guys truly surprised me. 
> 
> We've still got a long way to go in the story, and plenty of events have yet to happen, but we've already hit what is perhaps one of the most important scenes, right here in this chapter. If you guys want to reach out to me to discuss something or even just to chat, I have Discord (ask if interested) and am on [Tumblr](https://polska-1999.tumblr.com/).


	15. A New Day

“So, how do you like it here so far?” Oscar asks Hiccup. After a bit more discussion with Viggo Grimborn, Hiccup had been given freedom for the rest of the day on the agreement that he, Oscar, and Mason would visit the castle tomorrow morning for breakfast. Mason had slipped away at some point as the trio left the castle, leaving Hiccup in Oscar’s company, which Hiccup did not mind at all. 

“It’s perfect!” Hiccup lets himself say enthusiastically. “It feels like a dream, like someone might pinch me at any moment and-”

“But it’s also not a dream,” Oscar interrupts, reminding Hiccup. 

“I guess the gods don’t completely hate me after all,” Hiccup comments with a smile. Gods, he hadn’t really stopped smiling much since his discussion with the Chief, has he? Hell, even the tall bald brute that is the older Chief hasn’t given Hiccup much trouble now. If anything, he’d stopped glaring at Hiccup as much, although there was still some glaring. “I still need to finish telling him the whole truth about who I was, though…”

“It won’t affect his decision, believe me. He likes you too much,” Oscar comments confidently.

“You think so? Even if my presence was to cause conflict between m- Berk and our tribe?” Hiccup quickly corrects himself before he could mess up fully.

Oscar laughs, saying, “look around, Hiccup. Do you really think we’d have much trouble if that were the case?”

The Hunters have several times the population of Berk. Their homes are not destroyed every few nights in dragon raids. They have enough wealth and supplies to easily last through the worst of sieges. The island is well-defended. Their fleet makes Berk’s look like a child’s toy fleet. Yeah, if Berk tried to invade the Hunters, they’d run into plenty of problems… unless Berk managed to rile up half or more of the other tribes in the Archipelago as well, in which case it would be a slightly more even match. Even then, though, the tribes would be loosely allied at best, whereas the Hunters are united under one leadership. It’s the talented individuals who make the decisions that win wars, are they not?

“They wouldn’t be much of a threat alone, I suppose…” Hiccup trails off.

“We have allies, too, you know,” Oscar reminds Hiccup. 

“I suppose…”

The rest of the walk back to Oscar’s place is done mostly in silence, with them not having much to talk about. Well, that’s not true — they do have things to talk about, but not now, not in public. Besides, not all discussions need words. Hiccup knows Oscar is there for him if anything happens, and Oscar can trust Hiccup to return the favor if it were ever needed. A lot of people spare a glance at the two, but never much more than a glance. The guards at the palace gates often have loose lips, especially when speaking of those they envy, and so likely most of the tribe knows by now that the brown-haired boy walking with Oscar is a new member in Viggo’s game, a new protégé for the Hunters’ chief. 

“So, will I still be staying with you?” Hiccup asks Oscar once they enter the house.

“Unless you don’t want to,” Oscar says off-handedly, trying to hide the fact that he would be very much hurt if Hiccup chose to live elsewhere, like in the castle. 

Thankfully, Hiccup has no intentions to break Oscar’s heart, for he says, “and give up access to your forge and garden and everything? I don’t know how I’d survive without you or your cooking skills anymore.” 

That gets a genuine laugh out of Oscar, partially out of relief. “You and Mason both act like my cooking is from Asgard.”

“It’s true!” Hiccup defends.

“Right,” Oscar comments sarcastically. 

Hiccup reaches up to shove Oscar playfully with a small laugh, without a fear of hurting Oscar or being hurt by Oscar as a result. Oscar does stumble slightly, and he retaliates by ruffling Hiccup’s hair, completely messing it up. 

“Hey!” Hiccup protests, trying to move away from Oscar, but the host is relentless and manages to corner Hiccup to finish messing with his hair. 

“You’ll need to brush it a bit today anyways,” Oscar comments, letting Hiccup go once Hiccup looks like he has bed hair. Hiccup suddenly jumps on Oscar, planning on messing up Oscar’s hair too, but Oscar sidesteps and grabs Hiccup with a laugh. “Try that again and I’ll sling you over my shoulder and dump you in the fountain in the garden,” Oscar playfully threatens. 

“You wouldn’t,” Hiccup challenges.

“You’re right, actually,” Oscar cedes before adding, “I’d get Mason to haul you over there for me.” He lets Hiccup go. 

Hiccup rolls his eyes. “Yeah, you would do that,” he says after a moment of consideration. 

“Speaking of Mason, he declared he wanted something with cloudberries for dessert today, so I hope you don’t mind,” Oscar says over his shoulder as he walks towards the kitchen.

Hiccup follows. “Cloudberries?” he asks, confused.

Oscar stops in the kitchen to look at Hiccup. “You cannot tell me you never had them before,” Oscar says in shock.

“Well, I can’t say I have,” Hiccup responds. 

Oscar smirks, commenting, “ohh, you’re in for a treat later, then.”

“I’m probably in for a treat whenever you make any of my meals for me, so I’ll take your word for it,” Hiccup says, not missing the chance to compliment Oscar’s cooking once more. “You sure you don’t want to start up your own food stall in the market or something? Or an inn?”

Cue an eye roll from Oscar. “I’m seventeen, not twenty-two like Mason. Let me be a teenager before I settle on a profession, will you?”

Hiccup goes silent at that statement, then comments, a bit off-topic, “sorry, still getting used to things around here. On Berk, most of us don’t get a say in terms of profession. We either farm or cut trees or fish or maybe work the forge or something, but on top of that, everyone must fight dragons, and we don’t get much say in our professions. It’s, well, a matter of family rank and birthright, stuff like that.”

“Really?” Oscar asks, leaning his back against a wall now and crossing his arms. “I mean, the traders and people who go on hunting expeditions often talk about how limiting most other tribes are, but I always thought they were exaggerating, like most stories.”

“Not everything they say is an exaggeration.” Hiccup pauses before continuing. “I worked the forge because, well, dad didn’t want me to get hurt fighting dragons, at least at first. Then, it became an excuse to keep me from going out during raids so I don’t mess something up as always.”

Oscar frowns and says, “oh come on, you probably don’t mess up as badly as you say, or as badly as they think you did.”

“You’d be surprised. They were kinda right,” Hiccup admits, scratching the back of his neck — a small tick when he’s nervous. 

Oscar pretended to cough, poorly covering up an accusation of “yak dung.” He shakes his head and says, “sorry, I’m allergic to people bringing themselves down.” He pushes away from his spot against the wall, walking over to Hiccup and stopping just in front of the boy, resting a hand on Hiccup’s shoulder. “What they did or didn’t think of you doesn’t matter, Hiccup. They clearly didn’t deserve to have someone as amazing as you part of their tribe. They refused to see your talents and pushed you away instead, calling you a runt and trying to beat you down.” He pauses here and asks, “am I wrong to infer this from what you have told me, Hiccup?”

Hiccup almost forgets to breathe for a moment. Oscar had made some rather heavy accusations against Hiccups tribe — no, against Hiccup’s  _ old _ tribe. And yet, the more Hiccup thinks about it, the more truth the statement holds. The Chiefs of the Hunters, Viggo Grimborn at least (Hiccup isn’t sure about the older Chief, Ryker), had seen Hiccup’s talents and potential almost instantly. Oscar had seen the boy for what he was, too: not a runt, but a fellow human being, a friend even. Ever since Hiccup came here, even when he was still a prisoner for being suspected of an attempt at theft, he has been treated like a person, or at least like other people in his situation would be. No one cared whether or not he was a runt. Despite the positive light Hiccup has tried to cast on some of his stories of his past when speaking to Oscar during events like their dinner last night, some of the darkness and resentment still manifested itself in Hiccup’s words, and Oscar recognized it. 

Hiccup closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. For a moment, he feels like he’s floating, levitating above the ground, with Oscar’s hand resting on his shoulder being the only sensation grounding him to reality. Does what happened on Berk matter anymore? He will never go back there probably. He has a new life now, one he has already accepted formally; a life where he will attain the respect he deserves, where he will not be judged primarily because of his lack of muscle and strength anymore. Hiccup lets his thoughts collect themselves into a cohesive string of words before opening his eyes, gaze meeting Oscar’s as Hiccup lifts his head and says, “no — you’re absolutely right.”

Hiccup then does something that surprises Oscar. When Oscar lowers his hand from Hiccup’s shoulder, the younger boy steps forward and wraps his arms around his host — no, around his friend. Oscar returns the hug once his brain decides to function and process what just happened. Hiccup’s voice is meek, barely audible as he speaks, but his words carry a weight of gratitude to them unlike anything else. “Thank you, Oscar.”

After a moment, Hiccup steps away, now avoiding eye contact as he feels awkward. He stumbles through his next words, which he doesn’t even remember afterwards, before excusing himself to go to the forge so he could work on Oscar’s weapons (and silently mull over his decisions again). He spends the rest of the time before lunch working in silence, comforted by the bang of the hammer against hot, malleable metal and the hiss as burning hot metal cools in water. It’s an escape, a chance for him to return to his comfort zone while preparing to venture out into the unknown world ahead of him, filled with prime opportunities to live the life he has always dreamed of.

* * *

Johann’s ship leaves Berk’s port that afternoon, not staying for the night. With the heavy damages the village has suffered, there is neither supply nor interest for trade. The loss of the tribe’s heir has also deeply affected everyone, especially upon seeing the Chief’s constant suffering and anger, and thus no one was in the mood for haggling and listening to Trader Johann’s fine but boisterous and exaggerated tales. 

Gobber sits in the forge, having Snotlout and Fishlegs sort through several piles of scrap metal that Gobber has bought off of Johann. The two teens prove decent enough helpers, if a bit inexperienced… but they are still nothing in comparison to the boy who could have very well ran the entire forge himself if needed. Gobber pays them some attention, but not too much, for he’s currently busy examining the book Trader Johann brought. Ah, how he remembers the day Hiccup found out about this book. The boy had practically begged for two weeks straight until Gobber gave in and said he’ll try obtaining a copy. Now, Johann finally managed to get Hiccup a copy, but the boy is no longer around. Gobber wishes he had a way to send this to his apprentice somehow — it could prove useful if Hiccup took up smithing as a trade, wherever he is. 

As Gobber thumbs through the book, he finds something odd about it — there’s a small sheet of paper stuck to the inner front cover. Gobber spares a glance at the two teens to make sure they are busy (and at the door to make sure no one is coming in) before peeling the little sheet away. It’s a letter of some sort, one written in a handwriting that is all too familiar to Gobber, with likewise-familiar slight smudging due to the fact that the writer is left-handed. Gobber tries to keep the shock off of his face as he anxiously reads the note.

* * *

Hiccup returns from the forge just in time for lunch, having spent the last few hours working on Oscar’s weapons. As he walks in, he wipes the sweat from his brow. The forge had been a lot warmer than he realized, and he definitely ended up a bit sweaty. Unlike most vikings, Hiccup cares for his personal hygiene, and thus bathing once a week or less does not suffice. It’s just another thing that had made him different on Berk. He hopes Oscar won’t mind showing him the way to the hot springs or wherever this tribe has its bathing area. 

Upon finding a lack of a lunch or host in the kitchen, Hiccup walks through the house, calling out and searching for Oscar. Alas, it seems like the host stepped out of the house for a moment to handle something, for Hiccup cannot find him anywhere. Hiccup sighs to himself and heads back out to the forge, for he may as well as do some more work while he’s already drenched in sweat. As he opens the door and is about to head out of the house, however, he practically smacks into Oscar, who had been returning from the market and about to enter the home. 

“Sorry!” Hiccup immediately apologizes, stepping back. Neither of them had been caught off-balance, but he still feels bad about it. A voice in the back of his head maliciously reminds him that even if he switched tribes he’s still clumsy as ever, but Hiccup chose to ignore that little voice and label it as part of the old life he’s leaving behind. He looks Oscar over. Oscar only has a small basket of stuff with him from the market, but he too is sweaty like Hiccup, as if he had ran laps around the tribe chiefs’ castle. 

“It’s fine,” Oscar says breathily, clearly still a bit winded. He must have been running as training; there is no other explanation. “I need to drop these things off,” he motions to the small basket, “and then take a bath. Want to come with? No offense, but you look — and smell — like you could use one, too. It’s not laugardagr, so there shouldn’t be too many people there.”

Hiccup nods and says, “I was going to ask if you could show me where to go anyways.”

“You’re fine with eating later, right? If we end up too hungry, I’ll just grab us some quick snacks from a merchant,” Oscar says, slipping into the house to drop off the stuff he bought.

“Oh, of course,” Hiccup agrees. 

“I’ll grab us both some clean clothes to change into,” Oscar tells Hiccup as he slips into the depths of the house to look for some fresh clothing. Once he finds it, he grabs it and heads back to the door to meet with Hiccup. He leads the way across the village, thinking about where to go. There’s the indoor washing areas, or bath houses as they are called (Hiccup has never seen one before), which are heated by fireworms;Oscar just points those out as they pass by, deciding that it’s warm enough to hike out and show Hiccup his own personal favorite spot to bathe — a small hotspring he and Mason once found while exploring as kids. 

For Hiccup, this is pretty great. A secluded, beautiful area that only a few people know about, a secret that he has been entrusted with by his good friend and host. Hiccup ends up undressing while hiding behind a bush, suddenly very self-conscious of his body around Oscar. No matter how hard he attempts to shake off his past and its prejudices, an irrational fear of being seen as weak continues to bubble within him. Thankfully, he soon manages to overcome it, joining Oscar by the hotspring. They are both currently wearing only a towel around their waists. 

Hiccup looks Oscar over, even more self-conscious. He finds his words failing him once more, at the most inopportune and inappropriate times (as always). Despite Oscar’s small frame, the older teen is rather lean in terms of muscle and clearly trains often in his spare time. Hiccup tries (and fails) to not stare too much. Oscar looks a bit different like this than Hiccup expected, and it’s the type of different that is good for Oscar but not good in any way for Hiccup. The younger boy knows that he’s not attracted to, well… that he’s not like Gobber, but at the same time, if he was like Gobber, he really wouldn’t mind, um… yeah, let’s not talk about that. Hiccup does not need those thoughts right now. 

It’s Oscar who eventually breaks the silence. He too has been looking Hiccup over, but a bit more discreetly than the younger boy. He already knew what Hiccup looked like — someone had to change the younger teen out of the rags the pirates had left him in, after all. He’s a bit concerned at how thin Hiccup is, but that just means he’ll need to cook a lot and make sure Hiccup does not start skipping meals. Oscar knows how much missing food can mess with one’s body, and that’s from both personal experience and seeing others go through it. He also makes a mental note to examine Hiccup’s shoulder again and maybe take him to the healer tonight or tomorrow. 

“So, ready to jump in?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I'll let you guys decide what you think of this chapter on your own, without putting in too many of my own comments yet. Thanks for reading, and thank you so much for all of the kudos, bookmarks, and comments! You're all such wonderful readers. 
> 
> _In the meantime, a character crossover between Grim Tails and[Space Keet's](http://spacekeet.tumblr.com/) OCs is blooming somewhere in the wild distance, along with a potential collaboration..._


	16. First Frost

It proves that Johann’s decision to leave Berk’s port immediately proved incredibly fortunate, for the first deadly freeze came during the night, along with a small blanket of snow. Had the merchant not left, he would have found himself stranded on Berk for quite some time. Despite this, the early freeze proved extremely infuriating to Stoick; it meant that the support of the other tribes will not arrive until the ice melts, and no expeditions to find the dragons’ nest may begin their explorations. Simply, the freeze delays all possible attempts for the father to recover his son… or whatever is left of the boy. 

When Snotlout woke up that morning to find the entirety of the island covered in a thin, fine layer of cold, white powder, he almost cheered, but thankfully managed to avoid making his father suspicious. Instead, he quickly got dressed and went to work his shift at the forge, which eventually led to his current predicament. Namely, trying to help Gobber get rid of the ice and snow from the roof without slipping and falling off. This is easier said than done, especially as Snotlout currently finds himself trying to simultaneously keep both his balance and his grip on Fishlegs. The gentle giant has found himself beginning to slip from the roof, and of course it has to be Snotlout who comes to the rescue since Gobber is off doing Thor-knows-what and Astrid is working for Gothi now and the twins are… somewhere Snotlout neither knows nor cares about. 

“Snotlout!” Fishlegs shrieks, honestly rather scared of falling. It’s not a bad fall, but it’d still hurt.

“Shut up and let me think, Fishface!” Snotlout yells angrily, hiding his inner panic beneath anger. 

At that moment, Snotlout suddenly loses his footing as one of his feet slips on a patch of ice. Both he and Fishlegs yell as they fall to the cold, hard, unforgiving ground with a grunt, with Fishlegs landing first and Snotlout on top of him. They’ll definitely get some bruises out of this, that’s a given, especially since the ground is hardened with frost…

* * *

On the Hunters’ island, Hiccup and Oscar woke up to find that the entire landmass had been covered in a thick blanket of white powder overnight. Unlike Berk, the Hunters had been hit hard by the sudden frost, and Hiccup finds himself thankful that he’s warm and safe and in a home and not stuck out there somewhere on a boat or in the Northern Markets. His first reaction upon seeing the snow outside was deciding that it’s too cold to get up, which meant he attempted to hog the blanket. Alas, sleepy Oscar was having none of it, pulling on the blanket with an uncommon ferocity when Hiccup’s slightly greedy action causes for his skin to get exposed to the cold. There’s a small tug of war between them as they attempt to get the blanket to themselves before Oscar begrudgingly gets up from bed, returning two minutes later with enough blankets and pelts to provide for a small army. Unceremoniously, he dumps the entire stack onto Hiccup. 

“Hey!” Hiccup complains, trying to worm his way out from under the small mountain Oscar dropped on him. His protest only gets a small laugh from his slightly older host at first, but Oscar eventually shoves some of the furs off onto the side, letting Hiccup keep a few.

“If I knew the gods would dump buckets of white cold fluff on us overnight, I would have gotten these from the attic earlier,” Oscar comments as he jumps onto the pile of furs he has moved off of Hiccup. “Well, looks like your planned meeting with the Chief won’t happen anytime this morning,” he says, looking outside through the window, “seeing that the snow is above knee-height at the least.”

“It was incredibly warm just yesterday,” Hiccup says, rather stunned with the sudden fluctuation in temperature. 

“Eh, don’t worry about it. We’ll be fine, there’s fireworms we can use to thaw stuff if we need something that’s frozen,” Oscar reassures. After all, for many locations, a sudden freeze and snowfall may prove devastating, if not deadly. Thankfully, the Hunters have learned to adapt, especially given the rather crazy weather that sometimes occurs on their island. “At worst, I pity those who didn’t wash earlier and planned to wait until laugardagr to wash off, because there is absolutely no way the snow will melt anytime soon, and they probably won’t dig out a path to the bath houses until later tomorrow.”

Hiccup nods, then asks, “so… what do we do now?”

“First, we lay around in bed lazily,” Oscar states, crawling under a few furs. “Then, we’ll work on making breakfast and maybe clear a path out of the house. After that, we’ve got most of the day to do whatever we’d like, at least until Mason shows up and says the Chiefs are asking to see you despite the current freezing situation.” 

Staying in a warm bed while the outside world is freezing? Yeah, Hiccup can get used to this. He settles in the warm furs comfortably, sighing contently. Honestly, if he ever saw any of those pirates from that wretched ship, he’d thank them personally for attacking the Hunters’ ship and being the reason he found himself in a mortal version of Valhalla. Every morning, he awakens in fear that he’ll wake up on Berk again; every morning, he receives the pleasant surprise of awakening to find himself still in his own paradise. He knows there likely is something deeper and more sinister going on around him, but he also fears that meddling and attempting to figure it out would only lead to being ostracized from here. He refuses to let go of this amazing situation he has found himself in, even if he gets an inkling of a feeling that he may regret these choices later. But, these are not thoughts for right now. Currently, he has some relaxing to do, something he would not get to enjoy if a situation like this were to happen on Berk. No, on Berk, he’d be expected to be up and out of the house early, even without breakfast, and being a role model for the village (as if they even needed one like him) and helping clear the snow. Maybe not being a tribe heir anymore does have its perks. 

It’s only when his stomach begins to growl in protest that he even considers getting out of bed, and even then, the idea of leaving his warm little cocoon remains unappealing. Alas, hunger soon wins out, for his stomach has gotten loud enough for even Oscar to hear, prompting the host to get up and make them some food. The scent that wafts into the bedroom a few minutes later is likely the sole reason Hiccup left bed to begin with, and even then, Hiccup walks into the kitchen a few moments later, still in his night clothes and simply wrapped in some of the furs so he isn’t cold. He probably looks ridiculous, seeing that his appearance gets a laugh out of Oscar, but he’s comfortable and does not care much otherwise. 

Oscar has decided to use some eggs and spices to make an omelette, and Hiccup has to admit: if it tastes half as good as it smells or looks, he’s officially going to need to start finding creative ways to thank Oscar for his amazing cooking skills, which includes but is not limited to inventions from the forge (because Oscar actually appreciates Hiccup’s ingenuity, unlike the way the vikings of the Hooligan tribe have treated the boy). As expected, the omelette does taste amazing, and so it begins another round of compliments to the chef, who is as bad at taking compliments as Hiccup. 

Since there’s no meeting with the Chiefs immediately that morning, Hiccup does accept half a glass of wine when Oscar offers. As they eat, Oscar asks about Hiccup’s plans for when the boy does eventually talk to the Chiefs. Hiccup considered it for some time, but as he talks with Oscar now, he ends up deciding that perhaps it would be best to come clean about his entire past, including his past role in the Hooligan tribe. After all, it might help avoid confusion later if the Hooligans were ever to show up on the Hunters’ island, which is incredibly unlikely but not completely impossible. Oscar offers his own insight as well, thinking it to be a good call, and Hiccup finds himself agreeing and thanking Oscar for the help. Yeah, he’ll definitely inform the Chiefs, just in case something happens in the future that is related to such information. 

After breakfast, Oscar gets Hiccup some warmer, more weather-appropriate clothing before they both head outside, deciding it is time to clear away some of the snow so they can get out of the house without getting buried to the waist. Mason joins them out of nowhere, but much to Hiccup’s relief, he does not say that the Chiefs are ready to meet with the naturalized foreigner yet; Hiccup knows half a glass of wine isn’t a lot, but he wants to maintain his best image in front of the Chiefs, especially the older and bald one. The three of them work on clearing a path from Oscar’s home to the main road. 

At least, that was the plan originally. However, things change suddenly when a snowball sails past Hiccup’s ear and hits Oscar in the face. There’s a laugh, clearly from Mason, as the loyal guard yells, “Sorry, Oscar! It was meant for Hiccup, not you!”

Another snowball sails past, this one originating from Oscar. It hits Mason’s face as he’s laughing openly, causing him to get a handful of freezing cold snow in his mouth. Mason gets hit with another snowball immediately afterwards, this one coming not from Oscar but from Hiccup. 

“Oh come on, two versus one? How is that fair!?” Mason whines as he dodges a snowball that Oscar whipped at him. The snowball explodes into white powder as it makes contact with the wall of Oscar’s house, leaving a small snowy mark behind. Mason fakes left before jumping to the right, hiding behind the corner of a building. Another snowball from Oscar sails at Mason, but Hiccup accidentally moves into its trajectory. The result is Hiccup getting hit in the back of the head, and Oscar finds it rather funny as Hiccup screeches like a Terrible Terror on acid as he falls face-first into a snowbank. Oscar laughs shamelessly, but his laughter gets cut short when a small but fast little runt covered in snow rams into him and knocks him ass-first into a snowbank with a laugh. 

Mason decides to join in on the fun, running over with plenty of snow in his arms. He drops the snow onto Hiccup and Oscar while the two are on the ground and tries to run off, but Oscar kicks out his leg and trips Mason, making the loyal guard fall into the snow as well. So much for clearing the way between Oscar’s house and the street. Hiccup can’t complain, though — it’s all in good fun, after all, and he ends up enjoying it, laughing and throwing handfuls of snow at Mason and Oscar. 

At one point, Oscar shoves some snow down the back of Mason’s coat, making Mason scream from how cold it is. That leads to the beginning of a chase, one that only amplifies when Hiccup betrays Mason by doing the same thing Oscar did. Oscar and Hiccup take off running as fast as possible in the snow, Mason hot on their heels and yelling at them. They end up running all the way to the castle, laughing. The guards at the entrance give them odd stairs, but they don’t help, finding Mason’s situation and yells amusing. Oscar takes the lead, going down a hall here and up a staircase there until they reach one of the balconies, specifically one overlooking the courtyard. 

Here, Hiccup and Oscar climb up onto the roof above, hoping to not leave too many tracks. If they’re lucky, they’ll lose Mason for good. Alas, the roof is at a slant, and as they climb over towards a corner to hide behind another part of the roof, Hiccup’s foot slips, and he starts to fall with a yell. He grabs onto Oscar, but instead of stabilizing himself, he only pulls them both down. He hears Mason yell their names as he and Oscar fall from the roof, their fall partially broken by the thick layer of snow on the ground.

* * *

After checking on Snotlout and Fishlegs to make sure that the two will live, Gobber let them stay inside the forge and work on stuff, deciding that trying to clear the roof was more of a hassle than it’s worth. Fishlegs took this offer happily, using as a chance to warm up by the fireplace. With the frost having set in early and making explorations and searches for the dragons’ nest impossible, the demand for a production of weapons has lessened. Now, the two teens simply hang around in the forge to avoid the wrath of their chief (and, in Snotlout’s case, his dad). 

Snotlout still works at sharpening the never-ending supply of dull weapons, wanting to feel useful somehow. He tried his hand at working metal already, and that only resulted in a nasty burn. How did his clumsy little cousin ever manage to make swords? Snotlout can’t even hammer a sheet straight without messing up its thickness, much less make weapons of different shapes and sizes. Yeah, okay, maybe some of his teasing about Hiccup being stuck as a blacksmith had been a bit uncalled for, because this is a lot harder than Snotlout ever expected it to be. Hiccup had made it look so easy, like anyone could do it, even a total runt; in reality, Snotlout can’t do much more than move around scrap metal and sharpen stuff, and the latter is something he still messes up on at times. 

Gobber watches the Jorgenson kid, having noticed the boy’s change in attitude — not that it was hard to notice, really. You’d have to be blind, deaf, crankier than Mildew, more stubborn than Stoick, and stupider than Spitelout to not realize such a change. Gobber knows it has to do with Hiccup; that much was also clear, especially after how the Jorgenson butted heads with the Hofferson lass. The boy seems more tame, like someone just dulled all of his swords and axes and replaced them with wooden replicas. The kid learned the meaning of regret, something he had lived his life blissfully without before. It’s not surprising — most Jorgensons have been sheltered from the consequences of their own actions for most of their lives, be it Snotlout or Spitelout or even Valka. Of course, this is not an accusation Gobber would ever make around Stoick, but Valka had been, in a way, sheltered too; she wanted to release and not harm dragons, and her actions sometimes caused the tribe great losses in terms of livestock. (Hiccup, by contrast, had been kept almost too accountable for every single feather and piece of wool that went missing during raids. The Jorgenson luck didn’t flow down to him.)

Gobber sighs, picking up the book again and opening to the letter. He reads it to himself, trying not to let a stray tear fall from his eye. There must be something weird in the air again…

_ Gobber, _

_ I know you’re probably worried about me, so I asked Trader Johann to pass on this letter to you. By the time you’re reading this, he has dropped me off at the Northern Markets. I’ve probably even found myself a job by now, too, using what you taught me to bring in enough money to live comfortably. It’s odd, being alone out here, but it isn’t bad. The storm rocked the boat and damaged it a bit, which is how I ended up with Johann, but hey, it turned out fine in the end, right? It was a nice surprise, not waking up to a dragon raid or to someone making comments about how I’m useless.  _

_ I know dad has probably returned by now, and I hope you’ve kept our deal. If he thinks I’m dead, then maybe it’s best to not correct him. Hopefully, the first frost will come in soon enough to keep him from doing something stupid like going on another search for the Nest this close to winter. If he’s still about to do something crazy once devastating winter ends and the ice begins to melt, then… keep him safe, even if it means breaking our deal. By that point, I should be settled in and far enough from Berk to not have to worry much about being found and dragged back (and if I’m not settled by then, chances are I didn’t stand a chance anyways and ended up gone).  _

_ Thank you for everything, Gobber. It has been a pleasure and honor being an apprentice under you. If I’m able to, I’ll try writing to you again sometime in the future. I won’t forget about you.  _

_ Signing off to start a new life,  _

_ Hiccup Haddock the Third (H3) _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late updates! School is kicking my butt at the moment in terms of workload, so updates may slow considerably. Rest assured, however, that unless something horrible happens, there will be at least one new chapter a week. Thank you all for reading!


	17. The Queen of Hearts and Hammers

“Never do that again,” came the scolding voice of the older Chief, his tone frigid and sharper than a blade. The yells had echoed through the entire castle, heard by both chiefs. The reaction had been astonishingly quick, and Hiccup and Oscar had been dragged out of the snow and into the comfortable warmth of the castle within moments of falling from the roof and into a snowbank. Now, they were wrapped in blankets and sitting in front of a fireplace, awaiting the arrival of a healer that will assess the amount of damage suffered as a result of the fall. Both of the Chiefs stood in the room, along with Mason and a few guards, and the two looked far from pleased. Hiccup finds himself regretting the glass of wine he consumed earlier. 

“It was an accident,” Oscar mutters under his breath, rather displeased with the turn of events that had occurred. Hiccup feels rather guilty, knowing he pulled Oscar down with him; otherwise, Oscar would not have fallen from the roof and gotten injured. A glint of darkness manifests itself in Oscar’s dark irises, forming a glare as the young teen fixes his gaze on the loyal guard, who only offers a sheepish and apologetic glance. Hiccup does not know much about the tensions in the current situation, but their existence is apparent, especially when one examines Oscar. 

“I called for Agatha’s presence; she will examine both of you and determine what extent of injury has been caused by your foolish actions,” Viggo says coldly, his even voice hiding a quiver of worry that would have otherwise made itself apparent had it not been for Viggo’s high degree of control over himself, his actions, his tone. However, a hint of affection slipped into his words, giving away that this situation has struck a soft spot in some way. Likewise, his kobicha eyes are simultaneously tinted with hints of worry and affection, ones that are far from easy to pick up on but are present regardless. 

Oscar growls slightly, suddenly rather offensive and biting in his tone as he speaks, “ I will not-” 

Oscar is cut off by his Chief’s cold glare and sharp words, “You will remain in this castle and be checked for injuries regardless of personal preference, Oscar.”

Hiccup feels a few shivers crawl up along his spine as the Chief speaks. So far, all of his interactions with the younger Chief have been on pleasant terms, and seeing how the Chief acts when upset makes him all the more thankful for the way his past conversations have gone with him. He doubted Oscar’s statement earlier that the Chief likes him, but seeing now what it looks like to be of ill favor with him allows him to realize that Oscar had been undoubtedly correct after all. 

The door to the room swings open and a rather large lady, towering over even Ryker, walks in, Hiccup being in awe at the sheer size of her in both weight and height. Her blonde hair cascading down to her broad shoulders, a thick shirt that hugs her figure loosely yet firmly, boobs big enough to be weapons (and have probably already killed someone, not unlike those of the Chieftess of the Bog-Burglar Tribe). Despite her largely threatening appearance, her face and moss green eyes where kind as she leans down to immediately tend to Oscar first. “Sit still,” she scolds him as he tries to wiggle free. 

Oscar sits still, knowing better than to disobey. He has gotten practically manhandled before over this, and it is not an experience he ever wishes to relive. The lady seems to intimidate him plenty, considering that he’s quiet as a mouse now, compared to how he had been talking back to his own chief just moments ago. He simply closes his eyes and breathes, waiting for this damned mess to just be over. 

She inspects Oscar thoroughly and carefully, taking mind to not hurt him more in case he suffered an injury from the fall that she was not aware of, prodding him gently with her large yet gentle hands.

Oscar’s only major injury is his leg; other than that, all of his other injuries are nothing more than minor bruises. He might also have slight hypothermia, and Hiccup is likely in the same position. Come to think of it, Mason likely has hypothermia, too, despite not sitting like her other two patients currently are. (Mason’s always the one teasing whenever Oscar gets hurt that “Mumma Bear” won’t let him leave her sight now. Looks like the tables might just flip on Mason today.)

The lady, after deeming that while Oscar's leg is injured it's not broken and doesn't require immediate attention; she moves over to inspect Hiccup, even giving his shoulder a once over before moving on. She moves the furs back over Hiccup and Oscar, getting up she grabs a spare, then grabs Mason and sits him down with the other two before covering him with the fur. She turns to her chiefs, “All three have slight hypothermia from their morning fun in the snow, Oscar has a scrape on his leg and some bruises but is otherwise fine. Hiccup is much the same, and his shoulder is healing fine,” she says, at the mention of the shoulder she sends a knowing glare at Viggo. 

Viggo is unfazed by the glare, or at leasts acts so in the presence of the boy. “Thank you, Agatha,” he says, maintaining his formal tone as he addresses her. “As always, your services have proved nothing short of indispensable.”

“Drop the formality every once in awhile,” comes Agatha’s response, but nodding her head as she inspects the cut on Oscar's leg again. “I will leave briefly to get something to cover that scrape, and some hot chocolate,” she says, beginning to walk out of the room before something comes to mind and she turns around to face the chiefs. “Do you two want any hot chocolate?” she offers. 

Viggo’s silent death glare would have normally made its appearance by now, but since it’s his wife asking, she only gets a slight glare from him. Ryker is the one who answers for both of them, saying, “bring us both a mug.” He pauses before adding, “and some for the troublemakers as well.”

She nods, leaving the room as regally as she came in, soon to be back with bandages and hot chocolate. 

Oscar takes the opportunity to tease Mason, “watch out, looks like your big mouth got you into trouble with ‘Mumma Bear’ too.”

Mason glares at Oscar and comments dryly, “you’re the one that shoved snow down my shirt.”

“You’re the one that threw the first snowball!” Oscar argues. 

“At Hiccup, not you!” 

“Well it hit me anyways!”

“Enough!” Viggo interrupts them, causing both to go silent. It takes a lot of effort for the Chief to not facepalm at the childish antics of his most loyal guard, but a certain memory reminds him that maybe it’s better for Mason to act young at his age than to be completely jaded and broken by the time he’s a teenager. 

Hiccup just listens silently to everything. Maybe the Chief is upset, but man, Oscar and Mason are acting so casually around him, being themselves no matter what. Hiccup’s dad — Stoick the Vast, rather — had always set apart his business and private life, seldom if ever showing Hiccup any care or compassion in public and only occasionally at home. Here, the Chiefs are not putting on any sort of act; they’re just being themselves, despite Hiccup’s presence. Hiccup must no longer be seen as a foreigner then, and that fact warms the young boy’s heart, really. Viggo Grimborn’s offer of a new home is coming together well for Hiccup — it was a real offer, not a fake offer meant to try and take advantage of him, at least not from what Hiccup sees. This… in a way, maybe this is his new family now. At least, Oscar definitely is, and maybe Mason. 

Agatha soon walks back in a tray with six steaming mugs held up with one hand quite effortlessly (at least, she makes it appear effortlessly) and a roll of bandages held in the other hand, equally effortlessly. Before handing out any mugs (even to the Chiefs), she bandages up Oscar's leg. Only then does she walk up and grab three of the mugs, giving them to Hiccup, Mason, and Oscar. Then she grabs the other three, giving one to Viggo and the other to Ryker, keeping the last for herself. “Enjoy,” she says, sipping at hers while standing in the room and trying to decide what to do.

She seems to decide something, facing Viggo as she says, “I'm going to go into our room to read, I'm not needed here at the moment. Holler if you need me.” Her voice was gentle as she says this, being casual to her Chief and husband as she informed him that she wished to enjoy her time off a bit. With that she left, carefully leaving to not spill her hot chocolate. 

Hiccup just quietly sips on his hot chocolate, not a single peep of noise leaving past his lips. Partially to blame is the taste of the hot chocolate, which is unique and really good and Hiccup can see why it’s probably popular, but besides this, he also has nothing really to say. From what he took away from the conversation (well, argument) between Oscar and Mason, the two are rather well-acquainted with the specific healer, likely having been in her care often. The nickname they mentioned, “Mumma Bear,” seems incredibly fitting now that Hiccup has seen the lady more. She reminds him of Gothi slightly, but she’s also simultaneously very different in that she’s younger, not mute, and can probably kill someone even more efficiently. 

The two Chiefs stay with the trio for some time, and their presence keeps Oscar and Mason rather quiet for the moment. Alas, much to Hiccup’s disappointment, when something does come up, it’s the younger Chief that leaves to deal with the matter, leaving the bald and older one to continue watching over them. Hiccup avoids eye contact, remembering quite well that this Chief does not favor him much, even if Hiccup cannot figure out why. They already established that Hiccup is neither a threat nor a thief, so there shouldn’t be any form of problematic tensions, yet those tensions still exist. 

The older chief stands around awkwardly for a few moments before deciding to walk over to the trio, eyes scanning and examining them, which leaves Hiccup less than comfortable. Thankfully, Mason is a saving grace, taking a sip of his hot chocolate before starting up a conversation to prevent the moment from continuing to drag. He comments to the older Chief without addressing him by title or name, “So, I don’t think Agatha introduced herself to Hiccup too well.”

Hiccup retracts his previous statement, wanting to elbow Mason for throwing him into the center of the older Chief’s attention.

Ryker looks at Mason as the boy speaks, nodding slightly in agreement; Agatha hadn’t introduced herself. “Aye,” he says, looking to Hiccup now, eyes not as glaring and biting as they had been during their previous encounters. “Agatha’s my brother’s wife. These two troublemakers like to call her ‘Mumma Bear’ because she’s the one that fusses over them whenever they do something stupid, like sliding down a roof.”

Hiccup almost chokes on his hot chocolate in shock. Words leave his mouth before he could prevent them, “That’s his  _ wife _ ?”

Ryker doesn’t look insulted; if anything, he appears amused by the response. “What, didn’ expect Viggo to actually have a wife? Oh, he does, and she’s one goddess of a woman.” Ryker decides to then comment, at his brother’s expense, “she can intimidate him if he’s acting like an obsessed and stubborn pest, which describes my brother flawlessly at times.” 

Mason laughs lightly, saying to Hiccup, “She intimidates everyone, believe me.” Then, he looks to Oscar with a devilish smirk before asking teasingly, “Right, Oscar?”

“You’re no exception,” Oscar fires back to Mason. Looks like they’re starting their bickering again. 

“Oh, I know that, but I’m stuck with her nowhere near as often as you,” Mason says.

“Oh, put a sock in it and hush,” Oscar responds, already irritated. 

Mason is about to speak again, but Oscar reaches over and smacks Mason’s arm.

* * *

By the time Agatha returns, the three boys have all finished drinking their hot chocolate and are now just casually talking. Ryker had left to let them be, leaving with his mug of hot chocolate. Viggo’s mug remains forgotten on a table. Clearly, when he was dragged away for some business, he had not meant to be gone for a long time; otherwise, he would have taken his hot chocolate with him, for seldom does he waste the chance to drink some of Agatha’s amazing hot chocolate. It has became a joke in the tribe that the Chief buys out half the chocolate merchants bring with them to the island — a joke Mason has only fueled by letting it “accidentally” slip one time that the percentage is closer to sixty. 

Hiccup has been asking Oscar and Mason some questions about the tribe and castle, although he did not always receive the clearest of answers. The conversation dies away to silence as the door squeaks open, the hinges a bit rusted, as Agatha enters. 

She had decided to bring her book with her, balancing that in her hand alongside her own mug of delicious heated sweetness. She notices Viggo's mug on the table; clearly, he wasn't meant to be gone for this long, the liquid in the almost-full mug having cooled by now. She will fix that issue for him later. She walks to a chair near the fireplace and the three troublemakers, sitting down and opening her book. Agatha had intended to watch the three while she read, clearly being a bit worried about them. In the meantime, she's also reading a book on art, art that they know of. 

She looks over it to gaze at Hiccup, slightly curious about why her husband wants to keep him around. She knows he had apparently ran away. “I'm sorry, Hiccup, I hadn't introduced myself, I'm Agatha Grimborn, Viggo's wife. I was so worried about these two that it slipped my mind,” she says, even her voice sounded gentle in her apology as she spoke levely and with a solid volume. She definitely almost sounded divine. 

Hiccup tries to introduce himself without being awkward. Does everyone in this castle know his name by now? Well, he did get along with the younger Chief, so maybe that’s why. “It’s, uh, not a problem. I’m Hiccup Haddock.” He decided to just reveal his full name, considering that he plans on telling the Chiefs the full story soon anyways. 

Agatha hides a bit of her interest, knowing she'll hear the full story from her husband. Instead she chooses to nod her head, “Nice to make your acquaintance, Hiccup Haddock,” she says. Now she herself is a bit intrigued as to why her husband is interested in this boy. 

“Likewise, Agatha,” Hiccup says with a small smile, choosing to call her by name than by ridiculous nicknames like the one Oscar and Mason use. “So, uh…” He tries to make conversation, but nothing really comes to mind. He wants to ask about life in the tribe, but he finds himself experiencing trouble with finding the proper words and phrasing. 

“What are you interested in?” Agatha asks Hiccup, taking a sip of her mug and turning a page in her book. 

“I mean… I’m not too good at anything specific, really,” Hiccup says sheepishly, earning himself a snort from Mason. 

“Saying he’s ‘not too good at anything’ is like calling Oscar’s cooking ‘only decent,’ honestly,” Mason comments, inviting himself into the conversation. “He fixed Oscar’s staff overnight or something, and now he’s adding things onto it so that Oscar has even more ways to hand me my ass on a golden-rimmed silver platter during training.”

That earns a chuckle from Agatha, “I see, so forgework? And it sounds a bit like invention as well,” she says, looking to Hiccup gently. 

“Uh, yeah, a mix of both, to varying degrees of success,” Hiccup admits, his cheeks reddening slightly from the compliment and comparison of his skills to Oscar’s culinary talents from Valhalla. He’s not used to people complimenting his work, much less praising it, but it feels incredibly nice, if he’s honest. It feels fulfilling too, as if his actions have found purpose in both application and the opinions others possess of them. 

Agatha nods, “I would like to see what you come up with, do you require parchment?” she asks, clearly asking if he perhaps has any that need to be jotted down right this second. She could tell he might have a few things to share with everyone in the room, judging by the way he's zoning out. 

“I, uh, wouldn’t mind some parchment actually, and some charcoal or a quill…” Hiccup trails off. Since he had a lot of time to think now while put on bed rest by Mumma Bear, there are some ideas floating around in the back of his mind, but in the past he has simply ignored those, knowing that no one on Berk would care much for them. Now, though, when asked directly about them, the ideas crawl to the front of his mind, ready to be planned out on parchment and shared. 

Agatha sets her book and mug down on the table next to her, getting up and leaving the room to collect some parchment along with some ink and quills.

Hiccup finds himself awaiting the materials rather eagerly, looking forward to putting some of his thoughts on parchment and even sharing these ideas with others. He still has to remind himself at times that he’s no longer on Berk but is instead on an island where the people believe in the value of qualities other than pure muscular strength. 

Agatha soon returns with a moderately thick sketchbook along with a small pouch, no doubt holding the ink and quills. She gives him the sketchbook, which was larger than the one he used to have, then she opens the pouch, giving him a small jar of black ink. She holds up three quills, “Which one?” she asks, two where hawk's feathers, one brown, the other white with grey baring, the third was from a bird Hiccup had never seen, iridescent green and gold with a blue ‘eye’ near the top. 

Hiccup ends up staring at the oddly colorful quill in wonder. His surprise and curiosity quickly become apparent on his face. However, then he remembers the question being asked of him. Deciding he isn’t worthy of taking the prettiest quill he has ever laid eyes on, he asks for the brown feather one. 

Agatha notices his interest in the prettier quill and holds off giving him the brown one. “You certain you don't want the Peacock feather quill?” she asks, knowing the name of the bird. She got a few of the feathers off of a trader for a good price (she probably intimidated the guy too much). 

“I-I’m sure,” Hiccup says, the stutter in his voice likely giving away his true opinion. How he wishes his father had taught him chiefing stuff like how to not reveal himself with a stutter under pressure.

Mason badly covers a mutter of “yak dung” with a cough.

Oscar rolls his eyes, “Hiccup, Mumma Bear probably has half a dozen of those. You’re not taking her only one or anything.” 

“Two dozen,” she corrects with a glint in her moss eyes as she gives him the Peacock quill anyway, putting away the other two in the pouch then walking back to her chair, sitting down and picking her book back up. 

Hiccup finds himself accepting the gift, wasting little time in getting ink on parchment once the quill is in his hand. He begins to bring ideas to life, through words and art alike; sometimes, he crosses things out or modifies them, but he doesn’t crumple up and throw anything out yet. He doesn’t notice Mason and Oscar watching his movements with a mix of surprise and curiosity and a level of amusement. By the time Agatha looks up again, Hiccup has filled at least three sheets completely. However, it was not the boy that got her attention immediately, but instead the creak of the door and incredibly light footsteps, ones she has learned to easily recognize over the years despite their near-silence. 

Viggo Grimborn does not look too pleased as he enters the room, his expression darker than normal. It’s clear that whatever duty had called him out of the room for an unexpectedly long period of time has likewise left him in a sour mood, worse than what Agatha has seen in several months. But, such matters are to be handled later; Viggo would likely not take kindly to Agatha involving their young guest into such fickle matters, especially considering Viggo’s desire to keep the boy around. Likewise, Viggo clears his expression to a neutral one, his negative emotions going unnoticed by the emerald-eyed brunette as the boy continues to write on his parchment. 

“Would you like me to reheat your mug, my love?” she asked, choosing to ask what troubles him later, and when Hiccup is out of the room. Knowing that he'd also be bit interested in what Hiccup is doing she informs him, “I gave Hiccup a sketchbook and a quill for him to share his ideas with us.”

Viggo’s too exhausted to uphold a perfect sense of formality as he speaks, his words coming out as more casual to his wife, “It would be much appreciated if you could, my dear.” He walks over to sit down in one of the chairs near the fireplace, his gaze focusing on the young guest who hasn’t even noticed Viggo’s entrance into the room. He doesn’t interrupt the boy, simply watching in silent fascination as Hiccup uses up both ink and parchment in quick but decisive and meticulous strokes of the quill. 

Agatha gets up, making a detour on her way to grab his mug to rub his hand reassuringly, leaving the room with his mug to reheat it with a Fireworm (in a small little cage to not drown the dragon). She'll be back soon enough after warming it back up for her husband. 

At one point, Hiccup looks up from the sketchbook and notices Viggo. When did the younger chief come in? Not that Hiccup is complaining, of course. “Oh, uh, hey Chief,” Hiccup says, giving the younger Chief a small smile. He doesn’t mind the older one much now that he’s no longer glaring threateningly every time, but there’s something about the younger Chief that makes Hiccup feel like he truly belongs here. Honestly, given Hiccup’s experiences, Viggo has been more of a father-like figure to Hiccup than Hiccup’s actual father, which probably explains why Hiccup is surprisingly willing to trust him. 

The chief decides that the greeting is unnecessary on his part, but for the sake of returning formality, he says, “Hello, Hiccup.” Then, he comments, “I see my wife has attended to your boredom rather well in my absence.”

Hiccup feels a bit self-conscious again. “Uh, yeah, I suppose.”

“May I see what you’re working on?”

It’s one thing for his friends and the kind local healer to be interested in Hiccup’s work, but the chief himself? Hiccup’s ideas aren’t even that good. What, there’s a design for a bola launcher (reminiscent of the one he used on Berk to shoot down the dragon he ended up releasing), and one to make Oscar’s staff retractable to a smaller size, and for making a bow or crossbow that could double with another weapon’s function. Overall, it’s nothing useful, seeing that most of it will likely never be created and even less of it will ever work properly. Nevertheless, he finds it difficult to say no, and so he nods slightly as he holds up his sketchbook.

Viggo rises from his seat and walks over to take the sketchbook, examining Hiccup’s work. It’s more beautiful than anything he could have imagined. Every word, every line, every dot, every stroke was done meticulously and purposefully, as if Hiccup were working on his magnum opus. The flow of ideas shows the boy’s thought process, constantly formulating ideas and improvements as he writes, his mind working on two tracks in perfect synchronization. Viggo’s praise is quiet but speaks volumes. “These are marvelous.”

Hiccup’s breath catches in his throat. His instincts had been prepared for a total rejection, for belittlement, and instead he received pure praise for his ideas. He swallows, asking nervously, worried that he had misheard, “You… like them?”

Viggo looks up from the sketchbook and at Hiccup, kobicha meeting emerald as Viggo confirms, “Of course.”

Agatha returns with Viggo's mug in hand, freshly reheated and stirred more to kick up the stuff that accumulated at the bottom; she had also decided to put on a bit of whipped cream for him, giving it to him while she glances at the sketchbook in her husband's hands. She marveled at the boy’s ideas — they're all fantastic and she could tell that Hiccup’s ideas would help the tribe greatly. “Hiccup, these are fantastic!” she praises. 

Hiccup is at a loss of words, clearly not used to such high praises from those around him. “Uh… thanks?...” he sounds uncertain as he speaks. This reaction gives Agatha an idea of what Hiccup’s life had been like wherever he’s from. The boy has seldom felt appreciated, likely often cast aside for his lack of physical strength, which Agatha knows to be the defining feature of many vikings. After all, on every trip to the Barbarian Archipelago, she’s left rejecting several marriage offers (offers that do not leave her husband happy, for some Vikings do not seem to understand the word no, leading to Viggo either personally dealing with it using his own underappreciated skills or by simply handing Agatha her hammer). 

Knowing that Hiccup is from somewhere in the Barbaric Archipelago and has suffered from being underappreciated, Agatha takes the sketchbook from Viggo's hands so that he can finish his hot chocolate (which ends with him getting some whipped cream in his beard, much to the amusement of Oscar and Mason). She gives the sketchbook back to Hiccup and then pulls the boy into a hug, gently patting his back. Agatha pulls away, slightly, saying, “These are very good, I'm sure my husband would not mind setting aside some land for you to practice some of the larger weapons on.” She looks to Viggo, who is currently trying to get whipped cream out of his beard (it’s an amusing scene, but now is not the time to laugh).

Hiccup doesn’t even know how to react to being hugged, but after a moment, he loosens his muscles (he hadn’t even noticed that he tensed up to begin with) and returned the hug, trying hard to not focus on how it reminds him of the fact that he hasn’t had a mother figure in his life for many years, that his mother has been gone, taken and killed by a dragon when Hiccup was only a baby. His voice is only able to form a meek thank-you, and even then Hiccup is not sure if he truly spoke the words or if they simply echoed in his mind, unheard by the kind woman who is hugging him. She reminds him a lot of several people from Berk — Gothi, Mrs. Ingerman, Fishlegs, Gobber… all of the people who had been kind to him and representing all of their good qualities. 

Once Agatha eventually pulls away from the boy, Hiccup’s attention is captured by Mason and Oscar snickering. Hiccup looks around to see what the two are finding so funny when he notices Viggo Grimborn, the younger Chief and likely best strategist of the Hunters, struggling to get whipped cream out of his beard. Hiccup’s laughter ends up joining Oscar’s and Mason’s as the boy considers potentially making an invention to make the task a bit easier for the younger chief… but then again, that would warrant seeing this less often, so maybe Hiccup might keep that idea to himself. Welcomed, accepted, praised… Hiccup could get used to this, even despite the slight hypothermia. Mumma Bear truly is like, well, a mumma, and the chiefs are like a pair of dads ready to praise, scold, or do other dad things. 

Yeah, he could get used to this. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to spacekeet for co-authoring this chapter by writing in the parts for her OC, Agatha! 
> 
> I'm so sorry about the lack of updates, but school has been kicking my butt recently. Here's a longer chapter to make up for it, likely the longest chapter of _Grim Tails_ yet! Don't worry, we'll catch up with events on Berk soon; right now, there's just a lot going on with Hiccup's side of things.
> 
> Thank you all for reading, leaving kudos, bookmarking, subscribing, and commenting!


	18. Heart to Heart

Despite her nickname as Mumma Bear, Agatha Grimborn has begrudgingly permitted for the boys to return home for the night without any second questions. However, that meant they were expected to remain inside the castle for the rest of the day, which Hiccup found to be a bummer, seeing that the boy had been looking forward to spending a fraction of the day in the forge, working on all sorts of projects. Alas, planning out other projects must suffice, and in the event Hiccup is still bored, he could just draw or sketch whatever he wants to… which ends up being his main activity soon enough. 

The furs are too comfortable for him to leave, so Hiccup just sketches while resting beneath them. The relative silence in the room allows for him to think, reflect on recent events. As he ponders on his past and his fate, his hand absentmindedly sketches people and scenes — his dad in the Great Hall, Astrid training with her axe, Snotlout showing off with a shield he could barely lift, the twins wreaking havoc across the entire village, Fishlegs reading a book, Gobber in the forge, Oscar and Mason during their shenanigans while they were supposed to be clearing snow… 

Hiccup feels the atmosphere in the room change as the older Chief, Ryker Grimborn, returns, entering the room. His footsteps fall against the floor more heavily than Viggo Grimborn’s, almost disproportionately so. Viggo walks with the stealth of an assassin, although perhaps a comparison to a Night Fury would be more appropriate. In contrast, Ryker’s footsteps resemble a soldier in full steel armor, prepared for war and battle alike. Of course, Hiccup can imagine that this does not always hold true, for there’s no such thing as a successful predator that cannot observe its prey while remaining unseen. 

Agatha is sitting a comfortable chair near the fireplace, her husband seated nearby. Their focuses were different, however; whereas Agatha sought to read more in her book, Viggo spent his entire time watching the young foreigner working on his marvelous masterpieces. His brother’s arrival pulls away his attention from the boy, however, and Viggo’s eyes examine his brother as the cunning chief welcomes his older half. 

“Brother, we’ve been waiting for you,” Viggo comments, his exhaustion slipping into his otherwise professional tone as he addresses his older sibling. Despite his professionalism, Viggo remains seated, though one cannot tell if this is an act of casualness or due to pure physical exhaustion. Had Hiccup been paying attention at that moment, he may have found himself worried; Viggo looked about as exhausted as Stoick the Vast did one year upon being informed that the storehouses did not contain enough food to last through the remainder of an extended winter that year. Viggo continues, speaking, “Come sit down and join us.”

Ryker accepts the invitation with a silent, solemn nod, having also received rather grim news himself. He walks over to occupy a chair near the fireplace, moving the seat closer to his younger brother before settling on the cushioned surface and allowing himself to lean back against the supportive yet soft back of the chair. With both brothers present, they may attend to the final remaining task of the day, assuming no other emergency events decide to unveil themselves. 

Viggo allows his attention to return to the brunette-haired boy with emerald eyes. He maintains an even but soft tone as he speaks the youth’s name to get the brilliant inventor’s attention, “Hiccup.” He pauses, allowing emerald eyes to tear away their gaze from the parchment and focus instead on the chief. “Pardon the interruption, but there is a matter we must discuss.”

Hiccup nods, perceptive enough to have realized that the delay for this conversation has been prolonged significantly and thus it should commence sooner rather than later to avoid potential future chaos. He shifts, not comfortable with the upcoming conversation but knowing it must eventually occur. He sighs, wiping the ink off of the quill to prevent it from drying on the tool and making it unusable until he gets the chance to clean it off. He prepares to close the sketchbook, knowing the Chiefs will want his full attention for this discussion. 

“Stop,” the Chief’s voice becomes commanding, causing Hiccup to freeze mid-action. Then, the voice regains its gentler tone as he says, “you have no reason to stop your work as you share your story and experiences. Speak freely but truthfully, and if we require your full attention, we will explicitly inform you.”

Hiccup nods slightly, putting down the scrap he was using to clean off the quill. He rehydrates the tool in ink once more before opening to a fresh page in his sketchbook journal, rather thankful for the Chief’s words and decision. The boy notices that the wife and brother of the younger chief have also focused their attention on him. Oscar is watching Hiccup, too, dark eyes holding reassurance. Mason is still next to Hiccup, but the youngest boy has just become aware that the loyal guard is snoring softly, held in the clutches of a deep sleep, the type of sleep where soft red marks appear on skin to inform one upon awakening of just how well they slept. 

Hiccup gazes at the parchment in front of him as he rests his quill against the paper, ink beginning to form lines that will take shape into ideas, images, memories. He lets himself get lost in the movement of the quill before he begins speaking, forgetting about his audience and nervousness. He pauses his actions for a moment, though, quickly flipping to one of his used pages and showing the sketch of a small island his audience, as well as a close-up sketch focused on the village depicted on the island sketch, biting back his insecurities as he begins the narration of his life. 

_ This is Berk. It's twelve days north of Hopeless, and a few degrees south of Freezing to Death. It’s located solidly on the Meridian of Misery.  _

_ My village — in a word, sturdy. And it's been here for seven generations, but every single building is new. We have fishing, hunting, and a charming view of the sunsets. The only problems are the pests. You see, most places have mice or mosquitoes. We have dragons. Most people would leave, but not us. We're Vikings. We have, well, stubbornness issues. My name's Hiccup Haddock. Great name, I know, but, it's not the worst. Parents believe a hideous name will frighten off gnomes and trolls... Like our charming Viking demeanor won’t do that. _

* * *

Had Hiccup’s focus not been on his narration, he would have noticed several quirks among his audience: Ryker’s raised eyebrows, Viggo’s bewildered blinks, Agatha’s worried glances, Oscar’s startled expression, and Mason’s half-sleepy and poorly covered up snickers. 

Hiccup’s story proves bittersweet at times, although some of his descriptions of his dad’s and fellow tribemates’ actions cause some of his audience members’ blood to boil in sheer anger. When Hiccup reveals the nickname his peers christened him with, the boy remains unaware of how Viggo reaches for his brother’s hand to keep the older sibling from flipping the nearest table. Hiccup has plenty of fond memories of people such as his mentor or his healer, but when the boy begins speaking about his cousin, Viggo has to elbow his older brother hard as a reminder that their tribe is in no position to begin a war over a single person… yet. 

Agatha likewise needs to remind herself to stay calm as Hiccup describes his father’s negligence, both purposeful and accidental, especially incidents involving medical issues. When the entire village fell ill with eel pox, Hiccup was left to care for himself alone because he refused to tell his father about his state due to an argument they had the previous night about how the needs of many outweigh those of a few. Another time, Stoick the Vast belittled Hiccup for the boy’s lack of prowess in battle, which led to the boy attempting to bandage up his own injuries (and given the descriptions of the injuries and Hiccup’s actions, the boy had likely not taken care of them completely properly. This is further supported by how Hiccup often rolls his left shoulder relative to his right one).

Once Hiccup begins talking, he spills almost all of his history… except for the night fury. That specific incident continues to be kept secret, for he could only imagine the reaction he would receive from a tribe of professional dragon hunters. He reveals everything else, though, everything he could remember and everything the tribe may find useful. As he speaks, he sometimes finds sketches of or illustrates the characters, finding pictures to be worth more than any possible thousand words. He wants to make certain he displays every detail of his life correctly and accurately. 

Upon Hiccup finishing his accounts, a silence falls, only interrupted by the cackle of the wood in the fireplace as it is engulfed by the burning flames. Hiccup feels fear fill his bloodstream, praying he didn’t mess up his opportunities. After several moments, Oscar is the first to move, reaching over to pull Hiccup into a hug, practically snuggling the younger boy as if Hiccup were his younger brother who just came home crying after being picked on. Even Mason joins in a moment later, pulling both the foreign teenager and his attached brother into his grip in an unexpected and gentle display of care and affection. He’s willing to die for them if necessary. 

The adults in the room also hold their deepest sympathies to the abused boy, but they understand that this is not their moment to show affection. Viggo rises from his seat with a sigh, giving one final glance at the Berkian youth before looking to the fireplace for a moment, watching as the flames completely engulf a new log Ryker put in. After a few more seconds, he addresses the room while speaking to no one in particular, “Time has come for me to handle the paperwork I have chosen to ignore thus far in this day.” With that, he turns and leaves, allowing his professionally neutral expression to slip when he believes no one is looking. 

As Viggo exits the area and begins to walk to his office, he becomes aware of footsteps following his own. Thankfully, these footsteps are ones he recognizes well; after all, he has been married to this woman for almost fifteen years. Her footsteps are far from silent, but they are simultaneously soft, almost comforting in an odd way. He deliberately slows his pace, allowing her to catch up with him easily. He knows there are no guards in the immediate area, not until a few hallway turns later, closer to his study; therefore, there is no one to witness his moment of weakness besides her. However, he will still feel much more confident discussing more delicate topics behind closed doors — otherwise, Mason will find out, and Viggo does not want the fatally loyal guard to worry about this yet. 

“What bothers you, my love?” she asks him gently, slipping her hand into his (while there are no guards around) to add a level of comfort for her husband. 

“We’ll speak of it when the only ones listening to us are the walls,” Viggo responds, knowing that if anyone else hears about this, others would find out soon. “Mason has yet to intimidate a wall into singing its secrets for him, but I suppose it’s only a matter of time until he does.” 

Agatha laughs at the joke, squeezing his hand gently with hers, “I understand,” she says before adding onto it and switching topics. “So, the boy?” she asks. She feels a little sad and angry for what Hiccup went through. 

“He will remain on our island and become incorporated into the tribe. If the Hooligans attempt an attack on us, we will retaliate in ways they could never expect,” Viggo says, his words bearing a mysterious threat. If Stoick the Vast begins a war against the Hunters and House Grimborn, then Viggo will personally teach the man a lesson in the appreciation of strategic minds. 

“You could also just send me in,” she says with a small hint of amusement. 

“No,” he denies the idea immediately, “we will not be the ones to deliver the first blows, nor will I allow anyone in this tribe to fight on the Hooligan’s barbaric level. If they choose to attack our home, they must learn to fight by our standards.” He also cannot bear the thought of potentially losing his wife in a conflict against an unskilled and rather unworthy enemy. 

Agatha pouts in a joking way, but knowing why he denied her idea. “Ryker looked like he was ready to toss a table through the wall,” she comments with a laugh. 

“It would have been a waste of a perfectly fine table,” Viggo comments simply, voice evening and hardening as they begin to reach areas where guards are stationed. Years ago, guards had been few and far inbetween in the castle, with the castle being respected as a safe haven by tribe members and foreigners alike — a fatal mistake, as Viggo soon learned, one that cost him far more than could ever hope to be replaced. He often thought bitterly of his father’s shortsightedness on the matter. He quadrupled patrols immediately after those events and has since doubled them again. He fears he may need to increase security once more as well, with recent occurrences and news in mind. 

Agatha doesn't let go of his hand even when they come in range of the guards; they don't shy away from each other in the presence of others. She too was thinking about the guards and how little there were back before that mistake, the one even she can't stop thinking about. How she could have helped? Could she have even helped? Agatha looks at her husband carefully and with a practiced eye, watching his gait and posture. He is severely exhausted and needs rest before continuing with paperwork. She begins to lead him to their room. 

If Viggo’s tiredness wasn’t apparent before, then the fact that he doesn’t realize they’re no longer heading to his office until they’re in front of the bedroom door is all the proof they need. Of course, by that point, even Viggo finds himself unable to argue with his wife on the topic, knowing this is a battle he cannot win. Paperwork will wait, then. He reaches up with his free hand to rub one of his eyes; had he gone to the office, he likely would have fallen asleep against his desk and woken up with a severe pain in his neck afterwards, which would not be a pleasant experience for him or anyone around him. He dismisses the two guards outside the bedroom door for the time being as he allows his wife to open the door to the room.

Agatha closes the door behind them as they enter, walking to the bed with him in tow. “Now you can discuss what troubles you while we lay,” she says gently, sitting on the bed to take her boots off, patting the mattress next to her to invite her husband. 

Viggo accepts the invitation, choosing to focus on removing some of his armor first, namely the spiked shoulder pads that have saved his life several times against would-be assassins. Next to go is his spiked belt, then his vambraces, and then his boots. Some may find his habit of wearing armor every day to be rather ridiculous, but he knows it as necessary. He has many allies but also many enemies, and times do come when his own allies would rather see him dead than alive. 

Agatha knows him well enough to know why he wears armour everywhere; she had to save him from the aforementioned near successful assassination attempts in the past. She was already laying on the bed, holding out her arms to invite Viggo into her comfortable embrace, furs already prepared to be thrown over the couple (not that they needed many, since Agatha generates enough heat for the both of them). 

It is with uncommon relief that Viggo allows himself to lay down with his wife, cherishing her loving embrace (along with everything else about her). He already feels sleep beginning to tug at the back of his consciousness, but as inviting as the prospect may be, Viggo knows he must discuss some rather important information before allowing himself to succumb to his body’s physical desire for some rest. 

Agatha helps him get more comfortable next to her, angling his neck in a way that won't give him a nasty cramp when he wakes up. She rubs his arm gently, “So, what leaves you so exhausted?” she asks gently again, not minding that she asked for the third time. He had a lot more to deal with than answer her outright. 

Here, in private, he’s able to answer her question without fear of being overheard. “Our primary buyer refuses to purchase Fireworms at any price except the summer seasonal price.” During the summer, when the demand of fireworms is low and supply is high, their prices tend to fall. However, once winter rolls around, the tables flip, allowing the Hunters to profit from their sales in order to make up for the weaker sales during the other seasons. Such a refusal from such an important buyer could burden the tribe’s economy if not potentially lead to another starvation during the winter, just as it had been several years ago. 

Agatha winces with worry as she remembered what happened several years ago; she certainly doesn't want that happening again. “Anything else?” she asks, her worry apparent. Agatha worries about the way he was acting before, and she hopes he solved it in some way. 

Unfortunately, that was not the end of the bad news. Viggo sighs before speaking once more, almost regretting sharing this information with his wife and worrying her. “A few dragons captured during the last hunting got loose and burned down a few buildings, including one of the six storehouses.” Without the storehouse, unless they can quickly trade and get enough food back to make up for the loss, part of the tribe will starve, up to a fifth if the winter drags on. The cold season already set in almost two weeks early, which bodes only unpleasant warnings for the rest of the season. 

“That's not good, the cold came early this year,” Agatha says, voicing his and her thoughts, worry clearly shown in her voice. Something comes to mind as she was thinking about it, asking Viggo, “Which storehouse?” if it's the one with most of their medical supplies in it, they are in a lot more trouble than just starvation. 

He doesn’t answer verbally, simply looking to her in answer. No words are necessary to explain the terrible situation the tribe is in. The year the last starvation occurred was the same year they found Oscar, who had only been five at the time. It’s hard to believe that was almost twelve years ago… and now, they face an even worse situation, with less supplies and a far more brutal winter ahead of them. Of course, this is not information Viggo would ever share with the young boys, not unless absolutely necessary. Them possessing such information would be useless; it would only create more problems and worry them, which is a situation Viggo desperately seeks to avoid, especially given their newest member and his potential. 

Agatha was worrying about those three, as well some of the newborn babies that were delivered recently; they may not make the long winter. Even if they do, the tribe would be weakened due to the circumstances, enough to interfere with dragon hunting or fighting in case one of their enemies were to take the chance to attack them. She worries that the Defenders would be the ones to strike first. Agatha looks to Viggo and hugs him gently, having no more to say and instead soothing him to rest. She decides to nap with him herself as well. 

Agatha’s actions are indicatory enough that it is time to rest now. The matters troubling Viggo cannot be solved in a single night or day, and they most certainly cannot be solved when the younger Chief is exhausted physically and mentally. Viggo pushes away his reluctance at letting the matters remain unsolved and instead allows himself to rest with his wife, sleep soon claiming his consciousness as he dreams of finding success despite the challenges and hurdles thrown at the feet of his tribe. It takes a group of strong men to climb over such a hurdle, but it takes only one intelligent, innovative, ingenious individual to find a way a more efficient way around the hurdle — a leader, one who will then share such a discovery with those who follow him and train someone to follow in their footsteps…

...regardless of if the heir is biological or adopted. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More scenes with Agatha! Hiccup finally tells his full story to the Grimborns... well, almost his full story. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading! (And special thanks to the lovely spacekeet for helping by letting me use her OC Agatha and even writing Agatha's parts!)


	19. New Normalcy

Hiccup walks silently next to Oscar, listening as the snow crunches beneath their boots. On Oscar’s opposite side is Mason, who is constantly prepared to help Oscar walk if needed. The loyal guard also carries a torch, lighting their path to avoid stepping on ice. Up above them, the skies have darkened to shades of indigo and ebony as the sun disappeared behind the crest of the horizon, taking away its magnificent rays of warmth and light. As a cool breeze whistles, Hiccup finds himself extremely thankful for the heavy fur coat covering his body and protecting his pale freckled skin from the melody of the harsh northern winds. It’s a surprise gift from the elder chief, the one who made the decision it was time for the group to return home. The windbreaker is a bit large on Hiccup, but it does the trick and is comfortably warm. 

Behind them, a set of guards follows, their metal armor clanging with every step taken. Likewise, the older leader also refused to send out the trio (with one of them injured) into the dark unknown of the night without some extra protection. Hiccup appreciates the gesture, seeing that their own best fighter happens to be injured, but he does find the decision to simultaneously be rather overkill. Why send so much protection to escort them home? No matter. Hiccup forgets all about the guards upon the group approaching the familiar building he has learned to recognize as home. Mason opens the door for them, and the trio bid the guards farewell before heading inside. Hiccup breathes a sigh of relief; the stay in the castle led to a plethora of amazing things, but at the same time, there’s no place like home. 

He aids Oscar in going up the stairs and to their bedroom, and Mason does a small sweep of the house before following. They have already eaten in the castle, and Oscar is in no shape to cook regardless until his leg heals a bit and stops hurting. Just as Oscar helped take care of Hiccup’s wounded shoulder, Hiccup aids Mason in caring for Oscar’s injuries before they go to bed. Once this is done, Mason has Hiccup help Oscar get settled in bed while Mason himself does one final check of something before joining the two and putting out the candle.  

Tomorrow will bring a new day, one with more fun but also more attention and care to their actions and potential consequences. Wonderful as the Chief’s wife may be, the nickname Mumma Bear holds incredibly true after all.

* * *

That night summons more clouds that once more release oodles of snowfall. Copious amounts of freezing white powder befall the island, covering all progress done the previous day regarding the removal of snow from the pathways and roofs. Just like the previous morning, Hiccup woke up warm and comfortable, this time already covered in furs. Oscar is asleep on Hiccup’s left and Mason is laying in bed on Hiccup’s right, awake and reading some small book, a half burnt out candle on the bedside table signalling that Mason has already been awake for a longer period of time. Outside, the snow is still falling, so getting up early to try and clear it would be futile. 

“Good morning,” Mason comments without looking up from his book, having heard Hiccup awaken. He flips a page, tilting his head slightly as he reads, intrigued by whatever information and knowledge he is gaining from the publication. 

“Good morning,” Hiccup echoes, not saying more. Mason seems pretty invested in his reading; Hiccup knows what it feels like to be interrupted in such a scenario, so he goes quiet and lets Mason read in peace. He shifts slightly, stretching. He must have slept long and well, for he feels incredibly well-rested; it’s hard to tell, though, for the sky outside is overcast with clouds that continue to steadily drop more white fluff onto the island. 

“Want your sketchbook?” Mason asks, once more never tearing his gaze away from his book. His multitasking skills are rather impressive (although Hiccup supposes Mason isn’t the most trusted and useful guard without reason.) Hiccup finds himself a bit torn; he wouldn’t mind doing some sketching, but there is also risk of waking up Oscar. As if hearing the boy’s thoughts, though, Mason offhandedly comments, “and don’t worry about waking up the log. He slept through a hurricane that almost leveled the village’s lower quarter two years ago.” 

Hiccup finds himself accepting Mason’s offer. “Please,” he says, and Mason tears himself away from his book in favor of getting up for a moment, keeping his furs wrapped around himself as he goes to grab Hiccup’s sketchbook and some charcoal. Hiccup steals a glance at Mason’s book out of pure curiosity and finds it to be some sort of cookbook. Oscar’s, maybe? Hiccup doesn’t know Oscar’s handwriting, so he can’t recognize it, but the recipe does seem complex. 

Mason returns a moment later, handing Hiccup the sketchbook and pencils. He picks up his book, announcing to the boy, “I’ll make you two some breakfast, seeing that Oscar shouldn’t be up and walking around much today, and you clearly have no intentions whatsoever of leaving the bed unless you’re forced to.”

Hiccup laughs slightly. Mason is right. “Is it really that noticeable?” He asks sheepishly.

“You bet,” Mason replies, returning a laugh. He reaches over to mess up Hiccup’s hair affectionately. This seems to be a common, shared trend or action among Mason and Oscar. Hiccup finds himself wondering how Mason gets his bangs such a light color, and if Oscar helps him. No conventional hair bleaches that Hiccup has seen in Trader Johann’s stock can get near-black hair to a blonde shade. They can barely get his own hair a few shades lighter! Then again, maybe he wasn’t using them right… he was seven at the time, and his father forbade him from using anything like that ever again after Hiccup dyed his hair unevenly and looked like even more of a freak than normal. Maybe Hiccup will ask Mason to dye his hair; Mason seems good at it, assuming he does it with his own hair. 

Mason heads out of the room, leaving Hiccup to his own devices. Hiccup sits up in bed, using his pillow as cushioning for his back as he leans against the headboard of the bed. He holds the sketchbook in his right hand and charcoal pencil in his left, resisting the urge to nibble on the back of the pencil while thinking of what to draw. He looks around the room for inspiration before his gaze settles on his sleeping friend. 

Hiccup wastes no time in working, for Oscar is currently the perfect model for such a drawing. He’s in a deep sleep and not moving around much, breathing slowly and deeply. Hiccup finds him far more enjoyable as a drawing subject than using, say, one of the other Berkian teens. Oscar is just so much more similar to Hiccup, so much so that it makes Hiccup wonder if Oscar had been treated as a runt when he was a child. Maybe not, though; not if he grew up on this island and in this tribe, from what Hiccup knows. 

Anyways, Hiccup opened his sketchbook to a new page and got to work, planning on dedicating the entire page to this. Most of Oscar’s body is hidden beneath furs, but his hands, part of his arms and shoulders, and his head and neck are all visible and not covered. Hiccup begins by sketching a general outline — Oscar is on his side, facing towards Hiccup, eyes and mouth both closed. He’s curled up slightly beneath the covers, meaning that his hands are in front of him. His head is tilted forward as a result of his slightly curled-up position as well. 

Next come the details. Oscar’s hair is completely messy, and honestly, combined with Oscar’s relaxed expression and softened features, it makes Oscar look younger than normal and more like his own age rather than closer to Mason’s age. Oscar’s eyebrows are rather thick, although they’re not as thick as those of the tribe chiefs. (The Chiefs have apparently been occasionally dubbed as “Grimbrow” at times). His nose is rather normal, but in a good way. He has freckles, just like Hiccup, except Oscar’s are splashes of freckles on his shoulders and not on his face. Oscar’s lips have a slight cut on them, likely a minor burst due to the cold, dry air that invaded when devastating winter decided to make an early appearance. Oscar’s eyes lack any form of overly visible eyebags beneath them, pointing to the fact that Oscar has been resting well and sleeping plenty. (Again, this is more than can be said for the tribe chiefs, especially for the younger one, as Hiccup noticed). 

Oscar doesn’t have too many scars, but like Hiccup, he possesses a more defining scar. Whereas Hiccup has a small line on his chin from when the dragon that stole his mom wounded him, Oscar has a long line across his neck, as if from.... Hiccup has no clue what it’s from, actually. Did someone try to kill, assassinate Oscar? The scar looks faded, so it must have happened long ago, which only further makes Hiccup question it; did someone try to decapitate a little child Oscar? He knows better than to ask, though. He knows better than most that some memories are not the type one wants to think about, much less talk about. 

Once he finishes adding the tiny details to Oscar, he adds details to the background. He includes the patterns on the furs, the embroidery on the pillows, the wrinkles in Oscar’s nightshirt (which is too large, it seems, for it had slipped off of one of Oscar’s shoulders completely), and so on. After that, it’s time for adding more details with some shading. The dim cloudy light filtering through the window and the almost burnt out candle Mason left behind from reading his book provide almost perfect lighting, and Hiccup thoroughly enjoys working on this sketch and adding shading. Oscar’s hair is probably most difficult, for Hiccup seeks to capture its texture accurately. He desires for this sketch of Oscar to be a small masterpiece. 

In the end, he captures the scene almost perfectly, making it probably one of the best sketches he has ever made. However, he closes his sketchbook, deciding to not display the work to anyone else. It may have been pretty good, but compared to what Oscar really looked like, it hadn’t quite met Hiccup’s expectations. In reality Oscar looks like a small and mortal god, at least in Hiccup’s perspective. In the sketch, he looked too human. 

Hiccup would draw more, but a scent is wafting from downstairs, one that smells like Valhalla itself. Seems like Mason has picked up some of Oscar’s techniques and recipes. Hiccup hasn’t even realized how hungry he is until now, hungry enough to get out of bed and wander downstairs, still wrapped in furs. Sure enough, Mason is making them food; he’s almost done, too, and already getting ready to prepare their plates and bring those up. 

Mason doesn’t need to turn around to know that Hiccup is there. “So hunger and food can drag you out of bed after all,” he comments. 

“I guess I’m hungrier than I realized earlier,” Hiccup admits, straying closer to look at what Mason’s making. 

Mason turns to face Hiccup, leaning against the counter slightly. “Go back upstairs, I’ll bring you a plate. Wake up the sleeping beauty, too.” 

“Okay,” Hiccup finds himself agreeing with the idea. It’s warmer and more comfortable upstairs in bed, and Mason also gave him a small task. Abandoning his plan of figuring out what is for breakfast, he returns upstairs to the bedroom, going to awaken Oscar. 

Hiccup sits down on the bed, pulling the furs over himself comfortably before turning to look at his friend. Oscar has barely moved from his position, still deeply asleep; Hiccup almost feels bad about waking him up. “Oscar,” Hiccup calls in a quiet whisper, feeling a bit nervous for some odd reason. “Oscar, wake up.” He lets the volume of his voice rise slightly, closer to a normal conversation level, but nothing. “Oscar!” Now, he says it at a level a bit louder than a usual conversation. Oscar shifts slightly, which leads to Hiccup hoping that was enough, but much to Hiccup’s disappointment, Oscar just rolls over to face away from Hiccup and continues sleeping. “Oscar!!” Hiccup is rather amazed at how much Oscar can sleep through when exhausted and at peace. He tries to shake the boy gently, which only results in Oscar trying to scoot away… and accidentally scooting off of the bed, falling to the ground with a yelp. Now he’s awake. 

Hiccup feels bad for that, but at the same time and for some odd reason his first instinctive reaction is a laugh. Oscar swears colorfully as he clambers back onto the bed, throwing the furs over himself and giving Hiccup a slight but playful glare. Hiccup’s expression is likely rather sheepish, but another wave of laughter hits him when Oscar’s expression becomes a total deadpan as Oscar lifts up a hand and makes a vulgar gesture to Hiccup that seems perfectly akin to some of the gestures and comments Mason would make. 

“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” Hiccup says, playfulness in his tone as he echoes what Mason referred to Oscar as.

“You hang out with Mason too much, he’s starting to rub off on you,” Oscar comments, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep still clinging to his consciousness. “But yes, good morning.” Oscar looks around and happens to glance out through the window. “Well, looks like the northern winds favor our island a bit too much, for with how many hugs they’re giving us, they might just either freeze us solid or suffocate us under snow.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Hiccup says, “we never got snow like this on Berk.” Well, maybe not explicitly never, for they did get a lot of snow at times, but here this seems to be pretty normal with how neither Mason nor Oscar is worried. 

“Really? For us, this is pretty normal, it just doesn’t often happen so early into the season,” Oscar replies, sitting up on the bed and leaning his back against the headboard. He looks over at the empty spot on Hiccup’s other side. “Is Mason downstairs or did he leave and head off to the castle?”

“He’s downstairs,” Hiccup responds, “I doubt he’d be able to get to the castle in this weather without Mumma Bear scolding him.”

Oscar laughs slightly. “That is true,” he admits. “I guess I’m still not completely awake yet. I’m not thinking straight.” He shifts around to stretch a bit before asking curiously, “Speaking of Mumma Bear, now that we’re alone, what’d you think of her?”

“She’s, uh, interesting,” Hiccup says, uncertain of how to phrase it. “She definitely cares about us, that’s for sure, she’s just a bit…”

“Much at times?” Oscar offers the thought to complete the statement.

“Yeah,” Hiccup agrees with a nod. 

“As expected. She’s a bit of an overbearing mother, but I suppose that’s reasonable, given what happened…” Here, Oscar trails off, not continuing his sentence. 

Oscar is saved from needing to speak more on the topic by Mason coming into the room, somehow balancing three plates of food in his grip. He gives one plate to Oscar and one to Hiccup and sets down the last one for himself. He leaves again before Hiccup can properly thank him (or say anything really), returning a minute later with three glasses, some alcohol, and a bottle of some sort of odd juice or something. Wordlessly, Mason sets those down on the bedside table and grabs his plate before joining the other two on the bed. 

Hiccup is incredibly careful to not let any food fall off his plate and onto the bed as he eats. As expected during any meal with both Mason and Oscar present, the conversation travels across several wild topics, except this time, Hiccup joins in, no longer as worried about being judged for what he says. Oscar and Mason seem to embrace his decision to join in, which only further encourages Hiccup to speak his mind honestly. 

Mason teaches Hiccup a little-known art that is incredibly uncommon in the Viking Archipelago — mixing drinks. He keeps Hiccup away from the more heavy drinks, of course (namely after Oscar reminded him), but he does let Hiccup try a sip of his drink, which tastes unlike anything Hiccup has ever had. Hiccup finds that he rather likes the taste, really, although he recognizes that such a drink is not for him yet since he’s still rather young (besides, he’d rather not get a hangover the next morning).

After that, they lounge around and talk a while longer before being in bed begins to become boring. Mason is the first one to rise, saying that snow or not, his presence is expected and required at the palace. A little while after Mason leaves, Hiccup and Oscar end up getting out of bed, too. 

Hiccup takes the chance today to head to the forge, braving the cold snowstorm for a few minutes as he wades through the waist-high snow towards the forge entrance. Once inside, he’s rather cold, but he knows that the place will soon be sweltering warm once he begins working. He begins lighting the fire in the furnace, checking over to make sure all of the materials he got in the market several days ago are present. On his way out of the house, he made sure to grab Oscar’s staff, wholly planning on creating additions and modifications for it. He didn’t grab his sketchbook, deciding there is more than enough parchment in the forge for him to write on. The sketchbook can just be used for more personal work rather than for creating blueprints and plans for new inventions. 

It’s to Hiccup’s pleasant surprise that he finds a special book on one of the shelves of Oscar’s forge:  _ The Strategy of Acid _ , a book written by a rather famous forgemaster named Yoana from near the mainlands. Johann had gotten him a copy of that book, but Hiccup found himself needing to refuse it when offered, instead having Johann give it to Gobber, for it was the older blacksmith that paid for it for Hiccup when the boy’s father refused to. Hiccup grabs it, flipping through it. Supposedly, Forgemaster Yoanna found ways to use acid to solidify metalwork like armor and swords to make them stronger than with any other method. Considering Oscar’s reliance on his staff in battle and how harshly he fights, Hiccup may just need to use these strategies so that Oscar’s staff hopefully won’t break so easily. Of course, he’ll test them first for himself, just to make sure that the legendary and scarce book wasn’t full of pure hogwash. 

Thankfully, there’s some acid in the forge, although Hiccup recons he’ll need much more of it (as well as a fresher batch) to make the entire staff. He uses what he has for now for some test attempts, following the directions in the book wholeheartedly. The first attempt gets messed up, as expected, but by the fourth attempt, Hiccup is making metal that proves tougher than any alloy he has worked with before. Combining this acid method with some of the new alloys he discovered thanks to Oscar’s other books could allow Hiccup to create weapons and items that cannot be damaged or bent under any normal circumstances, items that could last decades without suffering major damage or needing repairs. 

He would continue working on more tests, but upon realizing how long he has already spent in the forge, he decides to head back to the house to keep Oscar company and help out if needed. Besides, it’s likely already time for another meal, and no matter how hard Hiccup tries, he could never say no to Oscar’s godly cooking. 

Seems that his instincts have spoken well, for Hiccup walks in just as Oscar is preparing some food. Mason doesn’t join them for this meal, his presence most likely at the castle (unless the guard got himself stuck in a snowbank or something). Nevertheless, the meal proves amazing as always and a natural conversation falls into place between Hiccup and his host. 

After the meal, Hiccup and Oscar end up heading outside to clear some of the snow. The storm above has stopped by then, allowing their work to have a visible effect that doesn’t get ruined within seconds of completion. This time, they don’t fool around as much, silently deciding collectively that goofing around back inside in front of a warm fireplace with hot chocolate is preferable. It takes almost an hour to clear off all the snow as necessary, but afterwards, it gives Oscar reason to dig into his reserves of supplies and pull out the needed ingredients for some hot chocolate. His version of the warm beverage proves a bit sweeter than Agatha’s but remains incredibly good, and Hiccup can shamelessly admit to downing two cups of it as he and Oscar warm up by the fireplace, which Oscar lit up using a fireworm, much to Hiccup’s curiosity. 

At some point, the conversation by the fireplace ends up somehow beginning a game of Maces and Talons, with Hiccup playing as the Honorable Chief and Mason playing as the Marauder Chief. For once, Hiccup thoroughly enjoys the game, with Oscar sometimes commenting on strategy and such, despite eventually losing. In fact, after losing for the third time in a row, Hiccup becomes determined to win, trying to analyze Oscar’s strategy and why it works in order to look for weaknesses. 

Oscar finds this rather amusing. “With how determined you are, you look almost as obsessed with this game as our Chief,” he comments playfully. 

“I do not,” Hiccup says with a huff, deeply focused on the board. 

“Yeah, you two would make good Maces and Talons buddies,” Oscar half-jokes. “He’d probably teach you a bit so that he had someone who could rival his skill.”

“Why doesn’t he just, you know, play against you?” Hiccup asks curiously. 

“Several reasons,” Oscar answers vaguely. “I’m not that good at it, and I’m not the most willing to learn about it religiously. Besides, I’m not exactly a heir, nor do I want to be, and this,” he motions to the board, “is a future chief’s game.”

“I’m no longer a ‘future chief’ either, Oscar. This isn’t Berk,” Hiccup reminds Oscar.

“But you were one, so he’ll probably want to play against you.” Oscar reaches over, moving one of his hunters and taking down the Honorable Viking Chief on Hiccup’s side of the board. “You know, this tribe does things that are considered far from the traditional.” Hiccup can’t help but feel as if that last sentence carried more meaning than it seemed to. Then he rises from his seat, picking up his empty mug and also grabbing Hiccup’s. He leaves the room as if nothing happened, going to do a mundane task that just happens to require going to another room. And perhaps nothing did happen; maybe Hiccup is just overthinking this. Or maybe he isn’t.  

Hiccup stares at Oscar’s retreating form.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay! Classes are kicking my butt, but as I said, do not fret! I will still update at least once a week unless something truly major happens. We've got some fluff going on, but also some more major plot points... also, did anyone catch my Witcher 3 reference? 
> 
> Thank you all for reading, and special thanks to Space Keet for her help! She's gonna have an AO3 account really really soon, and there's some awesome stuff that will pop up there, including more of some of your favorite OCs...


	20. Prepare for Trouble (And Make It Double)

"Are you sure this will work?" Ruffnut asks her brother as she ties a knot on the rope she's holding.

"Of course this will work!" Tuffnut says with absolute certainty. "If it worked for wee little Hiccup, then Loki will surely make it work for us while praising us for continuing such a great man's legacy!" Tuffnut wipes a tear from his eye, regardless of whether one existed or not. "Such chaos, such destruction, and such a tiny size..." Tuffnut realizes something and suddenly grabs his sister by the shoulders, exclaiming dramatically, "how could Loki ever expect us to compare!?"

"Uh, Tuff? You're freaking me out," Ruffnut comments, which makes her brother let go of her shoulders immediately.

"Sorry, too much?" He asks, actually apologetic. It's his sister, after all — the only fellow troublemaker left on Berk.

"Let's just focus on giving Berk a day no one'll never forget!" Ruffnut says, getting them to return to focusing on their plan. It's a few hours before sunrise, and once the day begins, the twins will reveal that they are done grieving and ready to take on their duty of continuing Hiccup's destructive legacy. They tie ropes, prepare buckets filled with mysterious contents, sneak into the forge to borrow/steal the occasional tool or weapon, and say their prayers to their patron god Loki.

As the sun rises, they sink back into their home, tired after all their hard work during the night. They lay down in bed, ready to peacefully rest. Their traps have been set — all they have left now is to wait, bide their time, and then listen and watch the marvelous chaos they cause, chaos not even a dragon is capable of.

Their first victim proves to be Gobber. The smith rose early that day, not long after sunrise, hoping to work on some personal projects based on that book from Johann. He reached over to grab and put on the prosthetic for his leg. All seems normal as he rises to his feet, except when he attempts to take a step forward, he finds that the prosthetic had gotten completely stuck to the floor, as if someone used resin or something incredibly sticky and applied it to the base of his prosthetic leg. Perhaps it wouldn't be too problematic if not for the fact that all of Gobber's spares mysteriously disappeared.

The blacksmith is rather embarrassed as he removes the prosthetic from his leg and flops down ass-first onto his bed. He thinks for a moment, considering what to do. He ends up hopping over towards the window, using the wall for support, and looking outside. He sees his old friend walking past the house in what Gobber considers a stroke of good fortune and perfect timing. Gobber leans against the windowsill, trying to look like he isn't missing his prosthetic like some sort of total moron. He calls out, "'Ey Stoick, coul' ye help me ou' wi' somethin'?"

Stoick looks up, noticing the blacksmith at the window. It's only been a few minutes after sunrise and the Hooligan Chief is already tiring from the sheer amount of things people need today. At least Mildew hasn't shown up in the village yet today, although something tells Stoick that it's only a matter of time. Today feels like the sort of day when everything goes wrong and when people complain, but Stoick doesn't know why. Normally, the number of complaints goes down when it's cold simply because no one feels like making the walk up the icy steps to the Chief's house (Stoick keeps the stairs nice and frozen over and slick for a reason), but it seems that it might just go up. Stoick sighs. He was on his way over to deal with a domestic dispute, but it seems that something is off with his old friend, based on this odd behaviour. "Just make it quick, I have a lot of work this morning."

"Could ye, heh, come into me 'ouse an' come upstairs?" Gobber asks with a nervous laugh.

Stoick's eyes narrow into a glare. What is Gobber doing? Ugh, no matter. He probably messed up with putting on his prosthetic again or something and refuses to say it because it's a side of him that Gobber doesn't like showing. Gobber likes to maintain his image as strong despite the missing limbs, but Stoick knows that when something regarding those prosthetics fails, then Gobber is left as defenseless as a newborn baby. "I'll be right up," Stoick says, heading into the house, which brings a relief to Gobber.

Thankfully, Stoick is able to easily help, for Gobber's spare prosthetics are simply all downstairs. The Chief chastises Gobber slightly, telling the blacksmith that he should keep his prosthetics closer to his bed in case something happens and Stoick isn't around. The Chief leaves soon after helping, not bothering to deal with the mystery of the prosthetic stuck to the floorboards at the current moment. He'll deal with that later; it's clearly not going anywhere.

The next surprise affects Fishlegs. Upon awakening, the boy found some sort of weird contraption at the foot of his bed, a sharp spearhead pointed right at him. Naturally, he shrieks, causing him to be heard throughout the entire village. Within moments, his parents are upstairs, his horrified mother quickly pulling him out of the potential line of fire while the father calls for the presence of the Chief.

In their beds, Ruff and Tuff hear the shriek. It brings grins to their faces.

"It sounds even more beautiful than we expected," Tuffnut comments, finding pure beauty in the success of their plans.

"Who do ya think will shriek next?" Ruffnut asks, a wicked smirk playing across her lips as she turns her head to look at her brother.

A shriek pierces the air suddenly, one even louder and almost as high-pitched as Fishlegs's. The twins break out into laughter, reaching over across the gap between their beds to high-five one another. They recognize the shriek well, often striving to cause it personally, but never have they ever managed to bring out such a loud and perfect one from the Jorgenson.

"You think it was a bit cruel to leave a fake curse rune with the dagger?" Tuff asks, referencing to their prank on Snotlout with a small hint of sudden guilt.

"If anything, I think H's dagger covered in the blood overdid it," Ruff comments after a moment of thinking.

"Eh, it was worth the shrieker," Tuff decides, letting his guilt fade.

"Agreed, dear brother," Ruff says, her own guilt fading too. "Besides, it's nothing compared to what Snotlout would do to H."

"Still can't believe Snotlout did Loki's champion dirty like that," Tuffnut huffs, taking out a small journal from his pocket and flipping through it nonchalantly and skimming over what it says. "I mean, can you believe it that H wanted to leave Berk for good?"

"Totally. Loki probably sent that Night Fury to punish them for how shittily everyone has been treating his champions," Ruffnut offers her opinion.

"Exactly! We never got enough credit for our servitude, and then everyone gave too much credit to H!" Tuffnut places the journal facedown on the bed, just beside him, as he crosses his arms. "Like, hello, he wasn't the only one around here serving Loki!"

"And then they all had the nerve to find H serving Loki to be problematic," Ruffnut continues her brother's rant. "There's nothing wrong with serving Loki!" she exclaims, "I don't get why they all had such a problem with it and turned their panties into a twist!"

"They're all Thor-loving disgraces, unworthy of Loki's reverence," Tuffnut says to his sister, hoping to calm her a bit. It's never good when she becomes completely fired up, not even for him. She often overworks herself to sickness.

* * *

By the time the afternoon comes around, Stoick feels like this day has been dragging on for eternity. First Gobber and the prosthetic, then young Fishlegs Ingerman woke up to find an oddly modified mini ballista aimed at his bed, then Snotlout Jorgenson started acting so terrified that Stoick ended up having to give up for the moment because no one could understand what Snotlout was saying, then Astrid Hofferson threw a fit because someone painted all of her axe handles pink, then Gothi became angry because all of her medical supplies somehow ended up on the roof of her hut, then Mildew showed up to complain that someone draped his hut in rotting fish (a claim Stoick has not bothered to attend to yet), and then so many more things went wrong that Stoick has not had the chance to sit down since morning, much less stop and eat. Therefore, he is currently a hungry and upset Chief as he approaches the Thorston residence.

The twins are outside the house, more specifically in the garden. They are partaking in some sort of Thorston ritual in front of a statue of Loki, and Stoick almost feels bad about interrupting a ritual meant to honor the God... except then he remembers that the twins have caused a mess larger and worse than on any Loki day in history. He clears his throat, trying to get their attention without speaking to interrupt the ritual.

Upon noticing the tribe chief, the twins rush quickly, offering their sacrifice to Loki's statue before rising to their feet and facing Stoick.

Stoick skips the formalities, getting right to the point as his glare pierces the two twins. "What is the meaning of this." It's not a question — it's a demand for information. "It's not even Loki Day yet!"

" _Au contraire_ , Chief," Tuffnut says, "it is an honorary Loki Day today, as is tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that, and the day after-"

"You get the idea," Ruffnut interrupts her brother, speaking to the Chief.

Stoick feels a migraine coming on as he shakes his head with a sigh, closing his eyes for a moment. These two may just be the death of him. As he opens his eyes and looks at the two, he can't believe he's asking this. "And why is that?"

"To appease him!" Tuffnut exclaims as if it's obvious. "Loki is  _angry_  at how the tribe treated his greatest champion! He sent his messenger to prove it, and now  _we_ , my sister and I alone, are the only ones who bear a chance to mitigate his mighty anger!"

Loki's greatest champion? Stoick has no clue who the twins are referencing. It can't be-

"Yeah!" Ruffnut backs up her brother. "The Night Fury is Loki's messenger!"

"A messenger, with a simple message," Tuffnut expands. "Loki is angry!"

Stoick can't believe this. The Thorston twins have gone off the deep side of the cliff, it seems. Mindless dragons being the messengers of the Gods... he almost pities their insanity. The last few days have taken a toll on everyone, and it seems that the teens had been affected almost as much as Stoick himself by Hiccup's death; not everyone is able to withstand such a stress, and it seems that the Thorston twins have cracked. He'll take pity on them... but they must face some form of punishment to keep them from thinking they can get away with acts like these unpunished. A trial in front of the council should suffice.

* * *

 "Any final words before this trial is concluded?" Stoick asks begrudgingly. The trial of the twins, which has came to the obvious and expected consensus that the twins will need to clean the outhouses in the village daily for the next two weeks, has dragged out for three hours due to how much the twins have been telling their crazy stories. The stories went from claiming that they were serving Loki because he was angry to audaciously claiming that they were being ordered to commit their acts by the ghost of Hiccup Haddock III, whose spirit is unable to rest because of the injustices he faced in the tribe.

Gobber did not come to the trial, making some excuse or another. Stoick doesn't blame him — Gobber was closer to Hiccup than anyone (besides Stoick himself, as the Chief liked to think), and it was expected that the twins would brazenly mention the Chief's lost son. Snotlout showed up, but became unusually quiet once the twins began claiming that they are acting upon his killed cousin's will. Astrid just looks to be a mix of shocked and horrified in the twins' stories, and Fishlegs is a bit terrified, seeming to take the twins' crazy stories to heart, especially after waking up to find one of Hiccup's modified ballistas aiming right at his face.

Naturally, the twins take full advantage of this opportunity.

"You don't understand!" Tuffnut exclaims dramatically. "This is revenge, revenge for how poorly he has been treated by all of you!"

"Disgraces!" Ruffnut yells to the crowd that came to watch the trial. "Disgraces, all of you! Mistreating the great champion of the greatest God! Even the dragons knew better than to kill him, for Loki would be upset if they did without his permission!"

"Next time the Night Fury comes, watch carefully! You never know when you may see the vengeful ghost of Hiccup Haddock the Third!"

"Enough!" Stoick raises his voice, sick of these wild stories that bring up his son in disgraceful ways. "Just, enough. I declare this trial concluded!"

"But Chief-" Tuffnut begins.

"No buts. This trial is over." With that, Stoick rises, wasting no time in leaving the Great Hall before he could do something he would regret. How dare those two have the audacity to insult and tarnish the name of his son, who fell (hopefully) honorably (although probably not) in battle to the worst demon known to viking kind.

"I told ye t' execute 'em when ye had th' chance, Stoick, but ye never list'n," came the crusty voice of the disgusting old man that lives on the far side of the island. Stoick really has to focus on his self-control to keep himself from raising a fist and just silencing Mildew the fast way. It wouldn't look good in the eyes of his tribe and it would allow Mildew to argue that Stoick is no longer stable enough to maintain his status as Chief of the Hooligan Tribe.

'I'm not going to execute a pair of grieving children, Mildew," Stoick says, his voice colder than the ice that covers the oceans and prevents Stoick from sailing off in search of his son. Of all the days Mildew could show up and complain...

"Ye know they're surely doin' this on purpose," Mildew suggests, trying to form doubts in the Chief's mind.

"Oh Mildew!" Someone calls out suddenly. Both the chief and the cranky old man turn to face the newcomer. "Why don' ye help me an' Mulch pick flowers fer the pyre, like ye promised?" It's Bucket, with Mulch running to catch up to him.

"Oh, uh... I'm not feelin' well enough t' collect flowers, if I do say so myself," Mildew says as he fakes illness to try and get out of the promise. However, Bucket and Mulch don't seem to buy it, with Mulch attempting to simultaneously correct Bucket's manners while making sure Mildew knows that he will have an unimaginable hell to pay if the crusty old man breaks his promise to sweet, innocent, and naive Bucket.

Stoick uses this as an opportunity to slip away, resisting the urge to deck Mildew and sweep the floors of the Great Hall with the obnoxiously irritating man's bony ass. He huffs to himself — Mildew's ideas and suggestions are even more ridiculous than anything the Thorston twins could come up with, and that's truly saying something. Killing a pair of kids for simply grieving over a loss suffered by the entire tribe is no reason to execute, and neither is a prank or two (or two hundred...).

Stoick walks up the steps leading to his humble abode, looking forward to resting a bit after the day's insanity. Construction on his new home has just been completed today, and Stoick is satisfied with the result. The structure maintained its original appearance from before that dreaded Night Fury destroyed it.

He decides he deserves some rest after the long and arduous day of chiefing. After all, it is far from easy to run around the entire tribe, especially given the sheer ferocity and amount of the pranks and traps the twins had set up. Stoick is exhausted, more worn out than he can remember being even the day after he returned from that fiasco expedition only to find his son, his only son and heir, gone.

Stoick knows that while the building can be rebuilt, all of his son's stuff is gone, burnt to nothingness in the impossibly hot blast of the Night Fury's fire; the same goes for any remaining things left behind after Valka's likewise untimely death. Do the gods simply despise him and his family? Great, he's beginning to buy into all of the hogwash the Thorston twins had been spouting earlier. He shakes his head as he approaches his home — best not to think of irrational things when exhausted mentally and physically.

As he approaches the top of the steps and only has a short walk left towards the home, he looks towards the marvelous sunset that graces the horizon. Tomorrow's weather will bring warmth, the purpling skies seem to foretell; perhaps some of the snow and ice will melt and allow Berk to return to a more efficient state of functioning. Perhaps it is a sign from the kind goddess Freya, that there will be a small break in the winter and in the sadness, that plants and families will be allowed to grow and bond...

A high-pitched screech suddenly breaks the silence and Stoick's thoughts. The chief turns his gaze upwards, towards the heavens from which the Gods are surely watching and judging, but he is soon forced to cover his eyes to shield them from the sudden and blinding flash of light as an explosion rocks the entire landscape, the heat grazing Stoick's skin even at a rather far distance. When he moves away his arm, he finds the new home he never even had the chance to enter burnt to ash and dust, charred to nothingness like his previous home. He did not even get the black demon as it dove down for the attack; it was too quick, far too fast for anything mortal. 

It's an isolated incident. Neither does the dragon attack anything else nor do any other dragons begin attacking. No raid begins. No sheep are stolen. This dragon went out of its way to destroy Stoick's home, and Stoick's home alone. This dragon has some sort of vengeance against him, it seems. As Stoick ponders this, he almost fails to notice half of the tribe running up and gathering behind him, gazing at the damage to the house in shock.

Maybe the Thorston twins aren't that crazy after all. 


	21. Ready Player Two

“Report,” Viggo commands as his most loyal guard enters the office. The sky outside remains darkened, the sun’s rays not yet illuminating the black nothingness above. The bright specks in the sky twinkle down above the village, the souls of the island’s heroes seemingly visible as they celebrate in Valhalla. However, a misty darkness is approaching from the South — a promising harbinger of misfortune that will soon reach them and cast its black shadow over the peacefully resting island. The lights in the village below remain extinguished, the living inhabitants mostly held tightly in the sharpened, powerful, alluring claws of sleep. Perhaps a possibility exists that no one except the chief and his most loyal guard are currently awake.

Mason walks into the room, closing the door behind him carefully before approaching the desk. He notices the paperwork and unfilled reports lying on Viggo’s desk. The loyal guard feels honored that Viggo took time out of his incredibly busy schedule (which includes the Chief’s beauty sleep) for this impromptu check-in. Mason is well aware he’s the only one at fault for this, of course; after all, he is the one who has been avoiding such reports in order to maintain stable contact with their guest and monitor progress as accurately as possible. Such accuracy has been unforgiving when it comes to the lack of opportunities to report, but thankfully Viggo understands the situation and dares not risk sacrificing the quality of the progress over something petty like a higher frequency of Mason’s reports. 

It has been several days since the mess with Oscar and Hiccup falling from the roof of the castle. Now, things have calmed down to a normalcy for the boy, as made certain by Viggo and those serving the cunning chief. Viggo knows that the stakes are too high to risk failure by rushing. 

“All goes according to plan,” Mason reports as he stands in front of the desk, facing the chief and maintaining an air of composure and formality as if he was standing trial. “We are precisely on schedule. The coast is clear for the next phase.” 

“Excellent as always,” Viggo says, giving a small praise of the boy and the overall efforts of the group involved in this before allowing his neutral frown to return as he continues speaking, stressing the message, “you are aware of the stakes that rest upon the success of this mission. Do not fail me, Mason.”

“Of course, sir,” Mason says with a small yet respectful bow, mentally noting to himself the words he refuses to say directly to the chief despite them both knowing well that they hold the truth — Mason isn’t doing this for Viggo’s success. He’s doing it for Oscar, to make Oscar’s life better by taking away responsibilities Oscar does not wish to carry.

* * *

“I give up,” Hiccup decides, pushing himself back in his chair after losing yet another round of Maces and Talons. 

“You’re doing better than a few days ago,” Oscar offers what he hopes are words that bring some comfort to the upset younger boy. The two are playing the infamous viking strategy game of chiefs, the only strategy game vikings will ever care about. 

They’re sitting on Oscar’s bed. It’s rather dark outside, but once they were both woken up by lightning striking somewhere nearby in the village, neither could return to sleep, so they chose to simply keep themselves occupied with talking and a board game while Asgard releases the leftover mead from the goblets of the Gods after a lengthy and welcoming feast onto the parched but frozen lips of the mortal world. 

“I’m still losing,” Hiccup huffs, upset with himself and his performance as he looks at the fallen figure of the Honorable Viking Chief. “What’s the score now, seven to none in your favor?”

“At least you’re lasting longer than five minutes in a match,” Oscar says. “The round now was probably almost an hour.”

“I still lost.”

“You’re being too critical of yourself,” Oscar says, trying to motivate Hiccup a bit. “You didn’t make a perfect sword when you first tried smithing, either. It takes practice, and you’re already improving.”

“I guess…” Hiccup says, avoiding eye contact with his older host. He has learned to be critical of himself, largely because everyone back on Berk always has been of him. 

Oscar finds these self-derogatory comments and habits of Hiccup’s extremely difficult to break, but that does not mean he plans to capitulate in his efforts to demolish the chains that hold Hiccup away from reaching his true potential. Oscar knows that he’s not the only one who sincerely wishes to personally strike every person that made Hiccup like this (Ryker’s punch could prove especially “accidentally” deadly), but he will obey Hiccup’s personal wishes of doing the people of Berk no harm (even if he does hope at times to be the first one to get a whack at certain people Hiccup mentioned and described). 

“So, how’s progress going on some of your forge projects?” Oscar asks, deciding to change the subject matter for now, seeing that Hiccup isn’t responding well to encouragement despite his best efforts.

Hiccup’s eyes brighten upon the mention of his projects. He has learned to be proud of those. “They’re going great!” Hiccup answers rather enthusiastically, “I just need another day or two and I’ll be done with all of the modifications to your staff.”

“And you still refuse to tell me all of them,” Oscar comments, his tone playful rather than upset.

“I’ll show you once they’re done,” Hiccup promises. 

“As long as Mason doesn’t know what hit him next time he and I train, I’ll be satisfied,” Oscar says. He doesn’t intend to harm Mason; they’re involved in a simple rivalry that focuses on one screwing over the other in a way that ends up amusing. 

“I think there’s enough tricks to last you a week’s worth of training at least, assuming you use a few new features a day,” Hiccup guarantees with a confident tone. 

“You’re a little tease, you know that?” Oscar’s voice takes on a lighter and more playful tone.

“I try to be,” Hiccup says, getting a bit cheeky with his host. He’s been teasing Oscar with small stats on his current project rather often, knowing how Oscar is anxiously awaiting the weapon. Hiccup only hopes he doesn’t disappoint. 

Banter is good, as far as Oscar is concerned. It shows Hiccup’s familiarity and comfort in the situation, proving that they have moved on from the moment of darkness caused by Hiccup’s continuous losses at Maces and Talons. Hiccup’s skills have improved since he first arrived on the island, that is unquestionable, but Oscar knows that Hiccup still needs to learn more before hoping to defeat him, and Hiccup definitely won’t be able to defeat the chief in a match. Oscar just hopes that Viggo Grimborn looks to effort and improvement as well as success or lack thereof. 

As they talk, Oscar knows Mason has returned. The Grimborns’ most loyal guard may move like a shadow in darkness, but after knowing him for so long, Oscar has learned to pick out the slightest variances in ambiance that hint at Mason’s arrival. A small whisper on the wind is warning enough for Oscar to know of Mason’s arrival, and today he heard a little more than the norm, for Mason clearly wasn’t purposefully sneaking around. 

Sure enough, a few moments later, the loyal guard with lightened hair soon enters the room, sneaking in without being noticed by Hiccup immediately. When Hiccup does notice his presence, the boy simply acts like Mason has been there all along, accepting Mason’s surprise appearance simply for what it is and accepting Mason overall and that Mason may be a bit odd at times. This bears good news for Mason and Oscar, simply meaning that Hiccup has accepted this way of life as his own. 

Mason finds himself a bit thankful that his report to the Chief still holds true despite his brief absence. He knows most would consider his current fear paranoia, but when it comes to delicate matters, things like to flip around within seconds if the smallest thing goes wrong, and if such a thing were to happen, the Chief would not take kindly to such an incident, leaving Mason with a potentially shortened remaining lifespan (over a decade of work under the Grimborn brothers has proven this plenty times over.) 

Mason ends up leaving again for a moment, this time heading to raid Oscar’s shelves for a spare towel. The rain began to fall during his return from the palace, leaving Mason’s hair and clothing soaked. He changed his clothes when entering the house, wanting to avoid making a mess in Oscar’s personal residence, but he did not have the chance to dry his hair. Normally, he wouldn’t mind his hair being soaked while inside, but there’s a small draft in the room coming from the ajar window, and it bugs him. 

When he returns to Oscar and Hiccup, Mason claims himself a spot on the bed, crossing his legs beneath him and trying to at least partially conceal his comfort and relief upon finally being able to sit down and relax after running full-speed through the entire village during the half-assed beginning of a downpour over the island. He runs a hand through his still-damp hair, brushing it back so the light-coloured bangs stop obscuring his vision. He needs to reapply the bleach and dyes to his hair soon — his hair’s dark roots are beginning to gain too much visibility and contrast for his tastes. 

Upon noticing a lull in the conversation between Hiccup and Oscar, Mason interjects with his own comments to keep the conversation natural and alive, even if those comments are sarcastic and occasionally crude. He remains relevant, even if relevance to the subject matter is maintained at the cost of Oscar’s embarrassment. Telling embarrassing stories about one another keeps Hiccup interested, plus it’s also entertaining to do, making it a win-win situation.

Mason’s position as most loyal guard is difficult at best and downright torturous at worst, but it has several benefits, including being able to directly care for those close to him even if something major were to occur. Oscar and Hiccup could get convicted of murder and tossed into the dungeons (not that they’d ever murder anyone of course, especially when it comes to Hiccup) and Mason would more than likely manage to get them both to walk away as free men within a week. However, the biggest downside to his job? Often times, his personal and professional life clash, forcing him to balance and prioritize, even if he does not wish to prioritize some things over others. Such is the curse of being good at what you do. 

“The Chief wants to see me?” Hiccup asks at some point when Mason mentions something about it. 

“I wouldn’t have ran like an idiot across the entire village during the start of a downpour if I didn’t have a message for you,” Mason replies, knowing his answer is partially a lie. He would have crossed the village during a full-blown wrath of Thor, even if there were winds powerful enough to knock over trees and even if the rain was travelling horizontally and attacking his face. Oscar doesn’t always handle thunderstorms well, and Mason would rather damn himself to Helheim than leave his younger brother behind, even if they are not officially bound by blood. 

“No, you would have ran like a madman then,” comes the teasing remark from Oscar. The young host knows damn well that Mason is lying, and he chose to call him out on it. That’s fine, Mason knows how to handle this; he knows to expect the unexpected. 

“I would have,” Mason admits, “because I’d be worried sick about both of you.”

Oscar smacks Mason’s shoulder, “I didn’t order any sweetened tree sap today.” 

Mason laughs, reaching over to ruffle Oscar’s hair. Their little display of familial affection removed the tension caused by Hiccup discovering that he’ll need to make a visit to the palace. Instead, the youngest member of their group is laughing at their antics, and Mason finds himself thankful that Oscar’s strategies in conversations compliment his own so well. Many people in the village recognize that Oscar and Mason, despite being of different bloods, are more tightly bound together by fate than even the tribe’s chiefs themselves, chiefs who are truly bound by blood. 

They continue chatting as Asgard’s drainage continues to fall upon their world. Some refer to the downpour as the leftover mead of the Gods, revitalizing the spirit of the mortal world. Some refer to it as Freya’s tears, tears of joy upon seeing the mortal world growing and as lifeforms end their mortal cycles of life and begin their ascent to their respective rightful places. Others refer to it as Loki’s trickery, lifting the sea above the skies and letting it slowly return to the ground. Whatever the theory is, the trio is glad to be inside, warm and dry under the safety of Oscar’s and Mason’s (and now perhaps Hiccup’s) home. 

They end up spending most of the day inside together, and once the downpour ends, several hours after the sky would have passed the highest point in its path across the sky, Mason decides it is time to take a trip to the palace. Oscar remains home, cleaning up a bit and deciding to work on making their dinner, while Mason leads Hiccup out of the house and towards the palace. 

Above them, the skies remain grey with overcast clouds, leaving the frosty wind unhindered from chilling the bones of those mortals who dare walk outside. Mason is mostly silent, but the silence has fallen more comfortably than in such previous situations. Now, Hiccup knows Mason is more than just another guard, that the silent act is simply a result of perfected formality and adaptation to the job. He no longer fears asking questions of Mason if necessary; if something were to happen, Mason would have his back. They’re no longer simply strangers divided by a difference of roles; they’re family, even if they lack the bond of blood. Perhaps some families are not automatically created, and maybe families that are forged can be stronger than the strongest steel, the bonds between them even thicker than those of blood. 

Hiccup feels a slight nervousness upon entering the grand stone palace, but he swallows it down, biting back against his fear. He has already interacted with both chiefs and other members of House Grimborn several times; he knows he shouldn’t worry, he knows they view him favorably, yet he cannot shake off the irrational fear. He ends up shifting closer to Mason as they walk, finding comfort in Mason’s presence. The loyal guard slows their pace and wraps an arm around Hiccup’s shoulders — a gesture Hiccup finds himself thankful for, as it brings a sense of relief. 

“Relax,” the loyal guard reminds Hiccup, “everything will go fine. The Chief is neither upset nor angry; he simply wishes to check in with you.” Somehow, hearing these words aloud and from someone he trusts makes Hiccup feel a little better about this, and when Mason removes his arm from around Hiccup’s shoulders, Hiccup willingly picks up their walking pace himself, taking the lead with a growing level of confidence. Mason allows this, occasionally correcting Hiccup’s path whenever the boy almost takes a wrong turn but otherwise remaining in the back, his presence simply nothing more than a threat for those who may wish ill against the young guest. 

Upon reaching the door to the office, Hiccup hesitates and looks to Mason for a moment; upon receiving a small nod in affirmation, Hiccup raps his knuckles against the door, knocking audibly against the wooden barrier. An even voice answers, giving permission for the boy to enter, and Hiccup spares Mason one last glance before opening the door and stepping inside while the loyal guard leans against a wall in the hallway, ready to enter if necessary but otherwise simply waiting. 

A familiar lock forms between the gazes of emerald and kobicha, except for once, Hiccup doesn’t shy away from it. The younger chief already cleared his desk of paperwork before Hiccup came in, signifying that he was expecting and prepared for this visit. Hiccup doesn’t let it dissuade him, though — he’s been improving in stuff like forgework and playing against Oscar in Maces and Talons, so it would only make sense that he does his best in improving with regards to communications with his new tribe’s chief. After all, this is his home now, and he can’t live life dodging the tribe’s leader. 

“Good afternoon, Chief,” Hiccup greets respectfully, really trying to not allow his voice to quiver. He succeeds mostly, or at least he thinks and hopes he does. He walks over and takes his seat in the chair clearly meant for him, opposite of the Chief across the desk, not breaking eye contact more than necessary. The shadow of a smirk that ghosts across the Chief’s lips probably would have discouraged him under most other circumstances (or at the very least made him suspicious of what will follow during the meeting), but Hiccup refuses to revert to his shy self, to the part of him that was created by Berk’s cruelty and torn down by the Hunters’ acceptance of him for who he is. Hiccup realizes that this meeting is a check-in but also an assessment — the chief wants to know exactly how well Hiccup has adapted to his new life. Hiccup doesn’t plan on disappointing, either. 

“Good afternoon, Hiccup,” Viggo echoes the greeting. “I trust Mason has informed you why you are here?”

Hiccup doesn’t let himself get intimidated. “He said you wanted to speak with me, see how things have been going for over the past few days.”

Viggo makes a mental note to reward his two helpers, despite their varying levels of willingness to help with this little project. They’ve left him a rather pleasant surprise in terms of their progress it seems. “And how have things been?”

“Things have been going pretty well,” Hiccup responds honestly. “The weather made going out to the forge a bit less appealing, so I spent a lot of time inside the house with Oscar and Mason.” 

“Ah yes, I suppose the weather did lend itself towards the more gloomy and boredom-inspiring,” Viggo comments, leaning forward slightly, resting his arms on his desk. “Tell me Hiccup, how have you combatted the boredom? Surely a brilliant mind like yours cannot bear being cooped up with a lack of any form of stimulation.” Viggo’s words flow through the air with the grace of a night fury, striking exactly where he wants them and slowly bringing his ideas to reality. 

“Uh, well…” Hiccup did not expect this question, but he still does his best to answer, once more going for honesty, “we talked and shared stories pretty often. I found out about how Oscar almost burned down half the village while trying to bake a surprise cake for a family member’s birthday…” (Oscar had strangely not mentioned whose birthday it was in specific though, but Hiccup had chosen not to ask when Oscar scratched at his scar as if the story awakened something about it.) Hiccup thinks back to the activities of the early morning, adding as his gaze shifts focus and breaks eye contact, “and we played Maces and Talons a bit. Oscar’s, uh, trying to teach me to play…” Hiccup’s eyes focus on a small Maces and Talons figurine on the desk: the Honorable Chief. He almost forgot about the chief’s obsession with the game.

Viggo found the results impressive, but there’s still clear room for improvement. Hiccup lost this round the moment he looked away and broke eye contact. “I see. Have you played the game before — such as, say, back on your former island?”

Here, Hiccup stutters slightly in response, feeling a bit embarrassed when looking back at how the other teens had tricked him regarding the rules of the game. Nonetheless, he finds his tongue and lips spilling the truth to the chief, emerald eyes watching kobicha but finding few answers revealed in the dark eyes. They seem to tell him to continue speaking and remain patient, that all shall soon be revealed. A few seconds of silence follows once Hiccup finishes describing the situation. Despite everything, Hiccup finds himself rather nervous as he awaits the chief’s response.

“So they forced you to play at a disadvantage, forced you to play the way they perceived you,” Viggo comments, “or perhaps they feared defeat at the hands of someone they believed was below them.” He picks up the small figurine from his desk, examining it, and Hiccup finds his eyes and gaze following. “They saw themselves as the honorable chief,” he flicks his hand suddenly as he speaks, making the figurine disappear and leaving Hiccup dumbfounded. “When in reality,” he pauses, once more closing his fist and then opening it with a flick. He’s holding a figurine, but it’s no longer the honorable viking chief, “their actions more resembled those of the marauder.” He makes the figurine seem to disappear again.

Hiccup just sits there in a dumbfounded silence, listening in pure shock as the chief continues speaking. 

“Of course, there is nothing wrong with playing as the marauder chief… if done properly.” The chief reaches under the desk, taking out a Maces and Talons board and placing it on the desk carefully. “What role has Oscar chosen to play when teaching you?”

It takes Hiccup a moment to realize what he was asked and another moment to find the proper words, or any words at all for the matter, to respond. “He, uh, plays as the marauder chief and has me play as the honorable viking chief,” Hiccup says, his confidence from when he walked in having faded a bit. He watches as the chief makes the figurine of the honorable viking chief reappear in his hand before placing it down on Hiccup’s side of the board, then putting the marauder chief on his own side. 

“For the sake of familiarity, you’ll play as the role you played as with Oscar,” is all he offers in explanation, not expanding on the reason why he has a board for Maces and Talons in his office and specifically so nearby. “Perhaps another day, you’ll find yourself better fitting the other role, but we’ll stick to what you’re familiar with for the moment.”

Hiccup finds himself incredibly thankful that Oscar played many rounds of Maces and Talons with him beforehand, despite Hiccup’s own complaining about constantly losing to his host. The practice proves vital, for it allowed Hiccup to familiarize himself with how the game’s real rules and strategies. Now, at least he won’t make himself look like a total idiot while playing; now, he actually has a strategy that, while flawed, allows him to stand his ground for at least some time.

Playing against Chief Viggo Grimborn proves not much different compared to playing against Oscar, although several differences exist. Hiccup decides to avoid conversation in favor of focus, which is fine by Viggo. On occasion, the chief does offer a vague comment on Hiccup’s moves, but they’re neither praises nor insults and are too vague for Hiccup to decide if the chief finds the move interesting in a good or bad way. Nonetheless, the outcome is as expected, with Hiccup’s honorable viking chief figurine getting tipped over as the boy loses the game. The round was short yet simultaneously an eternity, causing Hiccup to become unable to discern the length (and thus measure the relative success) of the round. 

Hiccup’s gaze falls upon the standing figurine that represents the marauder chief. Once more, he is reminded that the honorable viking chief doesn’t always win, and that his peers on Berk had tricked him into believing something that wasn’t true. 

“There are many ways to win in Maces and Talons, but all of them are conditional on your opponent,” the younger Chief of the Hunters says, watching as Hiccup looks up at him once more, “a strategy Oscar might find himself susceptible to being defeated by may not be as effective against another opponent. Of course, you’ve likely had few opportunities to play against meaningful opponents in the past, much less ones possessing a variance of strategies, so your lack of experience and knowledge of strategies is justified.” The chief reaches over and covers the game with a flat board, finalizing the ending of the round (and signifying, much to Hiccup’s relief, that there will not be another round played yet.) The chief is not done speaking, though. “However, you would be correct to notice parallels between Oscar’s strategy and my own.”

Hiccup racks his brain for similarities before a small realization dawns upon him. “You both make your first moves on your left side of the board,” he comments the first thing he noticed. In reality, there were many other similarities. Viggo and Oscar both do not fear sacrificing pieces, even a larger group of them, if they consider such an action necessary towards their overall goal. Hiccup does not possess that trait, being much more conservative with his pawns in the game and instead attempting to minimize losses while striving for victory.

“It’s fascinating how our unconscious influences our every decision, every move,” Viggo states, motioning with his left hand as he speaks, “Oscar, like myself, has dominance on the left side of his body. And, if I’m not mistaken,” Viggo’s gaze seems to pierce past Hiccup to see all of the boy’s secrets, “so do you.” The chief shifts in his seat, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the desk. “And yet, you made your first move on the right side. Had your old tribe seen left-side dominance as a curse or sickness, perhaps? Forced you to use your right rather than your left?”

Hiccup falls into a shocked silence for a moment. He never admitted this to anyone, not even to Oscar or even Gobber back home, but yes, his father had attempted to force Hiccup to use only his right hand for certain tasks such as swordfighting, commenting that a left-handed warrior would never be blessed by the gods during a battle. “How do you know?” The boy asks, shock prevalent in his voice as he maintains eye contact, wanting to know the answer and wanting to know the true answer. There is no way the chief had been able to pick out such a fine detail from how Hiccup played a board game. 

Hiccup’s question only confirmed Viggo’s suspicion on the matter. “I am no stranger to the cruelties present in viking tribes, Hiccup. While I cannot put myself directly in your shoes, I can most surely empathize with your situation.” Viggo knows to be careful of his words here. As with many delicate matters, the smallest mistake can tear down days, months, or even years of hard work. “One can change many aspects themselves, but dominance is not one of them. Of course, you may learn to use your non-dominant hand well — Mason is living proof of that, as he wields two swords simultaneously almost better than my brother and can do all necessary tasks with either hand — but it will never serve you as well as your dominant one.” Now, for the reassurance, “Rest assured, I would never allow such a barbaric action on my island.”

Hiccup finds himself simply nodding along, a tingle appearing in his left arm as a reminder of how tight the ropes had felt against the flesh of his wrist when his father tied his left hand behind his back to force Hiccup to hold his sword with his right hand. A strange sense of relief despite shame had surfaced when Stoick decided, all those years ago, that Hiccup was unfit to fight even with a sword and instead should be made an apprentice to the village blacksmith, who happened to be Hiccup’s unofficial adoptive uncle. 

“Now, there is one other matter we must discuss. It will not be a simple decision, nor do I expect it to be; once more, you will be given all the time you feel necessary to decide.” Viggo keeps his tone even, knowing the importance of perfection in this crucial moment. 

“What is it?” Hiccup asks, feeling simultaneously brave yet nervous with the anticipation. 

“As you may have overheard some mention, I do not have a heir to step up for me once I retire from my position as chief,” he mentions, bringing in some context before he plans to mention the decision directly. Everything must be carefully stated; anything short of perfection risks the entire plan and idea crumbling to ashes. “By traditional rules, passing on chiefdom to someone of another blood is frowned upon, but my tribe does not view tradition as a strict mandate — it’s seen as more of a general foundation, a description of what has worked in the past and what will likely work in the future; it is not the only possible way to achieve success, much like how there are many ways to win in Maces and Talons — it’s all dependent on circumstances. Of course, such a decision can be made neither blindly nor based on a singular criteria alone. You are the son of another chief by blood, regardless of whether they respected it or not, but blood cannot be a sole criteria for the picking of a heir, either. It depends on many qualities, such as loyalty to one’s people and the ability to make prudent yet expeditious decisions, the latter of which is a skill most vikings and their leaders unfortunately lack.

“But, I digress. My question for you is this: would you or would you not be willing to accept the role of becoming my heir to the leadership of the Hunters Tribe?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lack of updates! School has been kicking my butt this week, and AP exams are coming up at the start of May, so my updates may be spotty. On the bright side, you guys get this monster of a chapter, which is likely the longest chapter yet at roughly 5k words!
> 
> Thank you all for bearing with me and putting up with my crazy update schedule!


	22. Council

“...and he asked me if I’d like to become the new heir,” Hiccup tells Oscar as the two sit at the dining table in Oscar’s home. Hiccup has a plate of Oscar’s godly cooking in front of him, but not even that possesses the ability to dissuade Hiccup’s worries with its godly smells. Likewise, Oscar isn’t focused on his food at the moment either, instead listening carefully to Hiccup’s words.

“What’d you say?” Oscar asks gently, curious but aware of Hiccup’s slight distress.

“That I didn’t have an answer for him yet,” Hiccup admits, picking up his fork and playing with his food a bit, his gaze refusing to meet Oscars as he quietly adds, “I still don’t have an answer for him.”

Oscar frowns slightly, brows furrowing in slight confusion as to why Hiccup is so worked up. “That’s fine. He said you had extra time, right?”

“Yeah, but how much is that extra time?” Hiccup asks, snapping slightly as he looks up, allowing his emerald eyes to meet Oscar’s dark ones as his food becomes forgotten once more. “How can he be so certain I’ll ever think up an answer to that? I don’t know if I can answer such a question to begin with, Oscar: definitely not today, not tomorrow, and maybe even not next week or next month or next year.

“Besides, why did he ask me of all people? I can’t lead a tribe like this, ever — not even the people on Berk respected me, and they’re maybe a fifth the size of the Hunters, if that! I’m not meant to be a heir nor a chief; I can’t be a heir or a chief!” Hiccup rants, his voice slightly raised. Oscar has been so understanding of Hiccup’s situation up to now, so why can he suddenly no longer see that Hiccup isn’t meant to become anything or anyone important?

Oscar puts down his fork, mentally reminding himself to maintain his patience despite Hiccup’s less than ideal reaction. He makes a mental note to ask Mason to make their younger chief’s sugar and salt containers get mysteriously mixed up at some point in the near future — not that either of them would have anything to do with that, of course. He keeps his voice calm and even as he speaks in an attempt to calm his friend, “It’s an offer, Hiccup. There’s nothing forcing you to accept it.”

“Well I don’t want to make myself look like even more of a disappointment!” Hiccup argues, Oscar’s words having done little to calm him.

Oscar shifts his arm so Hiccup doesn’t see him clenching his fist. Yeah, he’s upset, and for damn good reason. He doesn’t like it when those he cares for are distressed, and he knows probably better than anyone else that the tribe’s chief can be incredibly demanding with his requests at times. Viggo Grimborn doesn’t mean it, of course — after all, the current situation is not in his favor either — but he sometimes does overlook the weight his offers carry, even when he means well.A mutter slips past Oscar’s lips, “I’m going to have to repeat this a lot, aren’t I?” He attempts once more to calm down the emerald-eyed boy, “Hiccup, you’re not a disappointment. Not now, not ever.”

Hiccup is about to interrupt, but Oscar cuts him off, “No. Hush, and listen to me.” Oscar continues once he’s certain Hiccup won’t interrupt. “Whatever they thought of you on Berk is untrue and, frankly, irrelevant. They didn’t treat you with the respect deserve.  _To Helheim with what they did or didn’t think of you._  What matters is the here and the now. You’re a Hunter now, not a Hooligan — at least, as long as you want to be — and for as long as you are on this island, no one cares what your dumber-than-a-yak uncle and cousin thought or didn’t think of you. Even getting to openly converse with the Chief, or playing a Maces and Talons game with him — that’s something to be proud of. He doesn’t just play against anyone; most of the games he’s offered get shrugged off because he doesn’t believe his opponent to be worthy of his time. In the meantime, he purposefully invited  _you_ to play against him; not your cousin, not your uncle, not your father, but  _you_.

“He won’t be disappointed if you reject the offer; he wants you to think it through, to weigh out the benefits and consequences. If you have a reason for rejecting it, then he’ll understand,” Oscar reassures, somehow managing to have Hiccup believe his words even though he himself has some slight doubts about the outcome of such a decision on Hiccup’s part. “He’s giving you time for a reason. If he wanted you to make a decision quickly, he would have put you on the spot, or at the very least given you a time constraint on when he wants your decision.” Oscar sighs slightly as he finishes ranting, knowing that if this doesn’t work, then nothing will. He adds a type of closing statement, hoping to end the argument there, “Don’t freak out over this, please. Everything’s okay: you’re not a disappointment, you don’t have to make a decision about the chief’s offer now or tomorrow or anytime soon, and no one says you can’t talk it over with me or Mason or anyone else you feel you can talk to.” Then he decides it’s time to change topics, “Now let’s eat; the food’s getting cold, and I don’t like having to reheat things. Besides, I can hear your stomach growling from all the way over here.”

Hiccup finds himself unable to argue with his host as he picks up his fork and digs into the food. Oscar was right, as usual; Hiccup is a lot hungrier than he thought he was, and thankfully the food hasn’t gone cold yet (not that it matters; with how hungry he is, Hiccup probably could have eaten the entire meal cold if needed. Warm is just preferable simply because it makes Oscar’s cooking even more godly compared to having it cold or reheated.)

Oscar spends the rest of the day walking on eggshells, tiptoeing around difficult topics to avoid stressing Hiccup more.

In the meantime, Hiccup avoids talking about Viggo’s offer as if it were the plague despite that constituting most of his thoughts throughout the entirety of the daylight hours. Hiccup keeps wondering about what Oscar said; would the Chief truly find it okay if Hiccup rejected the offer? Hiccup sees plenty of reasons why most people would not react rationally… and even more reasons why the younger chief would defy the boy’s expectations (just has he has with everything else so far) and be fine with it. These very facts act counterintuitively, making Hiccup want to accept the offer more. Viggo has been right about almost everything thus far, and he seems to actually respect Hiccup and care for more than simply brute strength, unlike Berk and unlike almost every single viking tribe out there. If the younger chief sees potential, who’s Hiccup to argue, especially considering that even Oscar shares a similar viewpoint? At the same time, Hiccup doesn’t want to accept and end up proving nothing more than a disappointment.

(He needs to stop thinking about this; it’s beginning to give him a headache that’s the equivalent of someone slamming an axe down over his head. Unfortunately, such an action is impossible until the decision is made, meaning that Hiccup will either need to deal with the pain for a long time or make a decision quickly, preferably tonight.)

It’s during dinner that day, as Mason and Oscar argue over the activities planned for the following morning, that Hiccup decides he needs this decision made as quickly as physically possible. He waits for a lull or end in Oscar’s and Mason’s conversation before interrupting, “Hey, so, uh, could you guys help me with making a small decision?”

Oscar finds himself glad for the change of topic, for Mason’s crazy ideas were beginning to get on his nerves a bit. He loves his brother, but that doesn’t mean the two don’t butt heads on a multitude of topics. He has a feeling he knows what Hiccup is referencing to, having given the young guest the suggestion himself; he simply hadn’t expected Hiccup to bring it up so soon. No wonder Viggo likes this kid (besides the obvious, at least. It’s difficult to not like Hiccup, in Oscar’s opinion.)

“I wouldn’t consider the chief’s offer a small decision, but whatever wind flies your nadder,” Mason comments off-handedly.

Hiccup isn’t too surprised that Mason knew about the offer; Mason knows about everything on this island, it seems. “Right,” he agrees, not knowing what else to say. He scratches the back of his neck in awkwardness, looking away as he speaks, “So, uh…”

“Of course we’ll help you,” Oscar confirms, shooting a small glare at Mason when the loyal guard gives Oscar a quizzical look.  _Trust me, I know what I’m doing,_ the glare seems to say. Oscar drops the glare only once Mason looks away, focusing instead on Hiccup, and Oscar knows Mason decided begrudgingly to agree, at least for now. The silent conversation goes unnoticed by the youngest member of the group.

Hiccup sighs in relief before looking back at his two older friends. By now, all traces of argument between them had vanished from their facial features, leaving Hiccup clueless on the rift in opinion. “Thanks,” Hiccup says honestly with a breath. “I just, well… I want to accept, I really do, but I’m worried that I, well…” He pauses, unsure of how to phrase this. He knows he might not be good enough, but there’s also a second part to it, a perspective that appeared while he mulled over the offer earlier, silently and on his own. “I’m worried that I may not be able to keep up with the demands of the role and that I’ll want to back out of it later on.”

Oscar was prepared for such a statement, whereas Mason clearly wasn’t. Oscar uses this to his advantage, speaking before Mason can recover, knowing damn well that Mason would never agree to let Oscar speak first if he knew beforehand what the younger non-blood brother was going to say. “That’s fine. I mean, maybe you could just say that, you know? Accept the offer conditionally and leave yourself an opening to back out through in case you don’t like it, at least for some time.”

Hiccup considers it. How did he not think of this before? Was he so focused on giving a solid yes/no answer that he failed to even consider conditionals? “That’s… actually a great idea! Thank you so much, Oscar.” The effect of having a decision was immediate on Hiccup. He still plans on taking a nap after dinner, but that’ll help solve his headache problem for good, hopefully. He felt the stress lift off of his shoulders. He smiles at his companion, thankful for the kind words and help and even the pep talk earlier, even if Hiccup hadn’t valued it much in the moment. He almost took it for granted, really, until he remembered that he didn’t have someone like that on Berk.

Hiccup’s focus on Oscar makes the youngest boy miss the steady glare that Mason has fixated on his face, a harsh and upset glare meant for Oscar and Oscar alone. The loyal guard is incredibly dissatisfied with this, knowing that Oscar’s suggestion is justified but will not please the chief nonetheless. Mason will need to report this tonight while praying to Asgard that the younger chief, who will undoubtedly be rather displeased and perhaps even disappointed, doesn’t separate the loyal guard’s head from his shoulders as a result.

Oscar ignores Mason’s glare, knowing that his own suggestion will force them both to face consequences… and he invites those consequences, in fact. When Hiccup decides to go to sleep, Oscar offers to take Mason out to the market, claiming they need to buy some last-minute supplies for breakfast tomorrow. Hiccup takes the bait, which leaves Oscar thankful, for attempting to explain the situation to the boy would prove complicated and damaging to their end-term goal. Instead, when Hiccup simply goes to take a nap, Oscar allows Mason to drag him out of the house, out of the village, and into a secluded area in the forest, where there’s no one to overhear conversations or screams.

“What were you thinking!?” Mason demands to know, practically shoving Oscar in anger, causing the younger brother to stumble slightly. “Do you have any idea how enraged the chief will be when he discovers your brilliant idea!? Do you know what he’ll do to me when I tell him!?” Mason loves his brother, he really does, but the younger brother pushed it too far, as far as the older is concerned, leaving the older brother to truly fear for his life for once. “This isn’t information I can report whenever or under my choice of circumstances!”

Oscar likewise has some incredibly powerful emotions over this, too. “You can’t expect me to just sit there and let our Chief ruin another kid’s life by adopting them and making them heir,” he argues, crossing his arms. “I’ve seen it before, I know how it ends.”

“You can’t apply the results of one event to all, Oscar,” Mason says with a glare, familiar with the fiasco Oscar is referencing.

“Doesn’t mean a repeat of that isn’t a possibility. Hiccup’s only fifteen,” Oscar says, refusing to back down.

“Yeah, which is ten years older than-” Mason begins to refute when Oscar interrupts.

“Ten years older or not, he’s still not ready for such a choice. He’s been here less than a month, Mason. Sooner or later, he’ll get homesick regardless of how he was treated on Berk and how well we treat him now. It’s unavoidable, and if he’s locked into a role like that, the situation will be five hundred times worse.” With this, Oscar rests his case.

Mason sighs. “So how the hell am I supposed to avoid being executed now?” He asks, irked.

“You won’t be executed,” Oscar tries to reassure Mason. The fire from the inferno of the argument is fading, leaving cooling ashes that seek comfort. “You’re too valuable to the Grimborn family.” Oscar’s own words suddenly give him an idea. “Actually… go report now. The chief should still be having dinner with the family, right? Report it in front of both chiefs and their wives. Even if Chief Viggo gets so enraged he throws a fit, Mumma Bear won’t let him harm you.”

Mason looks to the skies. “You know, that’s not that crazy of an idea…” He laughs slightly, not even really meaning to but simply reacting that way upon the tension suddenly being lifted from his shoulders. “I guess we don’t give Mumma Bear the credit she deserves for keeping our asses from getting skinned on a weekly basis.” Then, he adds, making eye contact with Oscar, “and I guess I owe you an apology. Looks like you do know how to give some pretty good advice.” Mason gives his younger brother a hug, murmuring an apology for pushing him earlier, before stepping away and giving one last smile as a parting gift before taking off at a full-speed sprint towards the castle, sincerely hoping that this smile wasn’t the last thing Oscar will ever see from him but also knowing that it might be and that he has to come to terms with it if it is. Right now, his entire survival hinges on whether or not the Grimborns are still having their dinner and if they even have a family dinner today in the first place.

He runs into the palace, getting a few odd looks from his fellow guards as he sprints down several hallways, making turns with absolute certainty and no decrease in speed. His footsteps echo off of the stone walls and in his ears, each one urging him to go faster, to not give up. Carpet, wood, stone, wood, carpet, stone; he recognizes what surface he’s running on without even looking down, his eyes always looking ahead. When the double doors of the mess hall appear before him, he lets out a breath of relief, slowing his pace slightly. He stops in front of the door, listening for a moment. Upon hearing the voices of both chiefs and their wives (and once he catches his breath enough to make it seem like he didn’t just run half-way across the island), he opens the doors and steps inside, head held high. He manages to maintain his sense of superiority over the usual guards as he approaches the head table.

The tables are filled with food, but none are quite as full as the one the chiefs sit at with their families. Ryker and Viggo sit together at the center, with their wives at their opposite sides. Ryker’s kids are seated next to his wife Magda, a rather small woman that Mason knows to be skilled in embroidery, alchemy, and other areas of craft. She seldom gets involved in administrative duties, but when she does, all listen to her. She’s an artist in both image and word, and her superior designer skills mean that the entire castle had been decorated under her command. Next to her, Ryker looks even more imposing as their relative sizes are juxtaposed. (She seems to be the only short Grimborn, in fact.) Speaking of the older chief, he’s currently biting into a perfectly cooked chicken leg, although he does look up from his food upon seeing Mason enter. Likewise, Magda and Agatha also glance up, with Viggo looking up, fork in hand as the younger chief had just sat down to begin eating.

Once he’s close enough to the main table, Mason gives a small bow, his wild hair reminding him that he forgot to fix it before entering by dangling down when he lowers his head. Oh well. He rises back up afterwards, addressing the chiefs and their family before saying, “Chief, I bear news for you regarding Hiccup Haddock, and I firmly believe the vitality of the situation makes any delay in delivering the news impractical.”

Viggo puts down his fork with a sigh, not pleased that his planned peaceful dinner was being interrupted. “Very well; speak.”

Mason takes the plunge; here goes nothing. “Hiccup asked myself and Oscar for advice regarding the offer you made to him. He decided to accept it conditionally, keeping the right to back out of it should he decide to do so.”

Viggo knows exactly whose suggestion that was. He clenches his fists, his glare dangerous as he looks over his most loyal guard. Mason finds himself truly hoping that Oscar’s right, that Mumma Bear will defend him from her husband’s rage.

“Viggo…” comes Agatha's voice, looking at her husband, her voice raised to purposely call his attention to her.

Despite his rage, Viggo knows better than to ignore his wife. He takes a deep breath, attempting to mitigate some of the anger before turning around to face the lovely woman he’s been blessed with knowing for two decades now.

“You can't force him to fully agree with your decisions; it's better if we leave him with a sense of freedom for if he decides any permanent choice, be it he accepts or he backs out,” she says levelly.

“I wasn’t planning on forcing him,” Viggo snaps slightly, fist clenching tighter. If Oscar hadn’t made that stupid suggestion, then he would have the results he desired.

“You knew it would happen, Viggo. What else did you expect from Oscar?” Ryker comments, reminding his younger brother of the boy’s nature. Even the older chief knew that Oscar would never go along with Viggo’s idea fully, that he’d twist it in his own way despite the Grimborn family doing all of this for the boy himself.

“He’s too pure, too innocent,” Viggo says, although it’s unclear who exactly he’s referring to, Hiccup or Oscar. “One day, it will get him killed.” The chief is far from satisfied, having now lost his appetite due to the unforeseen hurdle in his plan, one that will likely be responsible for far more stress down the road. If Hiccup has the option to back out at any moment, that only makes more tense situations far more dangerous with regards to Viggo’s vision for the future.

Mason maintains his posture despite being terrified as hell. He keeps track of the position of his sword, wondering if he’d be able to make a run for it if the chief decides to order his death. Then again, he wouldn’t really have anywhere to go in that case. When Viggo’s focus isn’t on him, Mason decides it to be perfectly acceptable to look to the other members at the table, allowing his facade to slip for a moment. Ryker makes a small gesture that Mason finds a bit calming — a two-way promise of sorts. “You’ll be safe,” says the promise the chief makes to the loyal guard; “Stay strong,” echoes the request Mason must promise to keep. Mason offers only the ghost of a nod before focusing his attention once more upon the younger chief, the reassurance having gone a long way towards making him feel a bit better. He has the support of not only Mumma Bear now but of Ryker too.

Having calmed down a bit, the younger chief looks at the loyal guard, the very same guard who has seldom moved from his position upon delivering the news. “Very well,” he spits out, dissatisfaction evident in his tone, “tell Oscar that any and all failures of the plan will now rest upon his shoulders alone. Dismissed.”

Mason doesn’t agree to this. Knowing he has support at the head table, he stands his ground. “No,” he says firmly, “I will not tell Oscar any of those words, nor will I accept your dismissal.” He pauses, letting the words sink in. He’s well aware of all eyes in the hall now falling upon him as a silence suffocates all side conversations at all other tables. “Oscar follows his beliefs, and he believes that you were a Thor-forsaken snake for how you attempted to manipulate your guest.” He decides to draw upon some of the words Oscar said in their argument in the forest. “Hiccup Haddock is only fifteen. He can’t even pick what he wants for breakfast most days, much less decide the course of action for a tribe several times the size of his home one. Furthermore, he’ll get homesick eventually, no matter how hard we attempt to prevent and mitigate it. Locking him into a permanent decision would only wreak havoc on your plan when that time comes. With Oscar’s suggestion, you’ll be able to guide him better, and the decisions you want him to make will be truly his instead of forced.” Mason shifts slightly in his spot, hand ready to grab his blade. “With that, I dismiss myself.” Mason turns on his heel and walks out of the hall, ignoring the stunned silence he leaves behind.

He’s almost at the door when there’s a quiet whisper of a comment, said by a female voice who has not yet spoken during this chaotic scene. Then, a different voice calls out the loyal guard’s name. “Mason, wait.” The guard listens, stopping in his tracks but not turning around. “Turn around.” He ignores the command. “Mason.” Ugh, fine — he turns around, making eye contact with the younger chief. “Forgive me for my outburst,” Mason hears the younger chief say with a rare apologetic tone, “you are absolutely correct in what you stated. My focus on the long-term had blinded me to the hurdles I would face along the way.”

Mason gives a small nod to show that he understood. A mutual understanding passes through the air, erasing tensions. Mason turns on his heel once more and leaves the mess hall, unharmed and with his life. He finds himself thanking the Gods as he heads back to Oscar’s house, looking forward to falling into bed and catching up on some sleep. He knows he’ll need to thank Magda personally, too, but he’ll do that later, once he has a chance to buy something for her at the market.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lack of updates! School is being difficult, and I also ended up falling ill with the flu, which forms a rather bad combination. Chapter updates will probably be slow over the next few weeks, but hopefully they'll speed up eventually.


	23. Terms of Agreement

The next morning, Hiccup finds himself walking up the road towards the castle of House Grimborn, Mason on his right and Oscar on his left. The sun has risen barely enough to peak over the horizon, and the ground alongside the paved stone road remains covered in a layer of snow that hasn’t melted completely since the abrupt beginning of winter. The air is chilly, as is typical for this time of year, and Hiccup sometimes sees his breath as it forms a small fog that dissipates into his surroundings. He finds himself extremely thankful for the borrowed coat he’s wearing and makes a silent note to himself to thank Oscar again for giving him a nice and warm scarf that Hiccup quickly tightens to prevent it from being blown away by the harshly frigid northern winds. 

As they approach the castle, Hiccup finds his stress returning with a vengeance. How the living Thor could he ever take charge of a tribe of hunters when he himself cannot kill a dragon even when it’s bound in front of him? However, another part of his mind argues that statement; maybe he’ll actually learn how to kill a dragon here, and even if he can’t kill one, isn’t that why he’s agreeing conditionally? He’ll be able to back out if needed, and frankly, that could just be his saving grace. 

Before he realizes it, they’ve reached the door to Viggo’s office. Hiccup raises his hand and raps his knuckles against the solid wooden door himself, not needing Mason or Oscar to do so for him. When he’s given permission to enter, he casts one last glance at both of his friends before opening the door carefully and slipping into the room. He figured he’d be expected, and his prediction proves true. As before, there are two chairs in the office, one for him and then the usual seat for the younger of the two chiefs. Hiccup wastes no time in approaching the desk, saying a quick and unimportant greeting before sitting down and getting right to business. 

“I’ve made my decision,” Hiccup says, getting right down to business. He doesn’t wish to delay this, wanting to get this done and out of the way as soon as possible. The sooner he officially states this decision, the better he will feel later on, and the less headaches he’ll get from things like overthinking and being an overly-worried fuss. 

“Excellent, although a bit quicker than I expected,” Viggo says, feigning some surprise to hide his knowledge of the situation. He leans back in his chair slightly, knowing he does not wish to intimidate the boy at the moment. “What have you chosen, Hiccup?” He asks with a relaxed tone, purposefully omitting the boy’s last name when addressing him this time. It’s a subtle change, one Hiccup thankfully does not seem to care for when the boy has far more important things to worry about, but Viggo knows that the choice of omission and silence speaks volumes. He patiently awaits the boy’s answer, not interrupting despite knowing the words that will come from the boy’s mouth. Although not completely satisfied with the current results of his plan, he knows he must simply deal with the slight pitfall in as respectful and careful of a manner as possible. 

“I’ll accept your offer for now,” Hiccup says, “but if I decide that being a heir really isn’t for me, then I’ll step down.” He pauses there for a moment, thinking about what to say next. He hadn’t really thought about what to say after admitting the decision. He never expected to get this far, actually. He expected anger, if not an outburst then at least a hard glare, but Viggo is doing none of that, simply listening instead. Hiccup takes a breath before continuing, making eye contact, “I know the answer is probably not what you wanted or expected, and I know it’s not completely what I want either. I would love to accept the offer completely, but I just don’t know if I’ll be able to uphold to all of your expectations of what a heir should be like.” He ends off there, having allowed himself to be honest with his response, perhaps more honest than he planned to be. 

“Very well,” Viggo agrees to the decision much easier and more calmly than Hiccup expected. The chief leans forward slightly, resting his elbows in the desk, kobicha eyes purposefully betraying a twinkle of wiseness as he speaks, “Although I assure you that you would not disappoint me, I accept that you have your concerns on the matter.” He lays one arm down along the desk in front of him, his hand reaching the elbow of his other arm. He uses his other hand to add gestures for emphasis as he continues, “After all, I could only imagine the difficulty of trusting others after how you were treated by your previous tribe.” Once more, Viggo is careful of his phrasing, knowing well the delicate nature of the topic. 

Hiccup simply nods slightly, in relief that Viggo Grimborn accepted the terms of the agreement. Even though Hiccup has a way out in case he finds he doesn’t fit well for the role, he truly hopes he won’t need to use it. If only those on Berk could see him now, if they could only know that he was just offered to become the heir of a tribe several times larger and more powerful than the Hooligans on Berk… well, so much for “Hiccup the Useless” now, huh? Half the village would probably be picking their jaws up from off of the ground. In fact, after a pause, Hiccup asks, “So… what now?” He’s nervous yet also eager to begin whatever training there is. “Do I get to start training immediately?”

The question brings a slight laugh out of the tribe’s younger chief, one that seems almost sinister in nature; however, this goes unnoticed by the determined boy across the desk. “Eager, are we?” Viggo asks, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips as he lowers the arm he was gesturing with before, letting it rest atop his other arm. “I see no harm in beginning immediately.” He thinks for a moment, leaning back in his seat once more and resting his elbows on the armrests, arms simply resting against the armrests. “You came here with Mason and Oscar, correct?”

“Yes,” Hiccup answers, having nothing to hide on the matter. The concept of training with his hosts, his roommates, his friends has him even more eager. He doesn’t fear this type of training — he knows Oscar and Mason would never let anything truly harm him. In fact, part of him is rather excited, weird as it may be. If it’s battle training or something, then hey, maybe he could actually learn something. He won’t be forced to use his right hand instead of his left; he won’t be forced to use a sword that’s heavier than his own body; he won’t be forced to fight an opponent four times his size and may even get proper instruction rather than just “swing the sword,” instruction like he read about in some of his books. 

“Excellent,” Viggo comments, kobicha eyes watching emerald orbs carefully, analyzing everything. “They will handle your first training sessions. While I do not expect you to be a master swordsman, I do expect you to learn what they are willing to teach you.” Viggo figures that to be a fair offer. After all, Hiccup and Oscar are of similar builds, the main difference being that Oscar has been constantly training in self-defense and battle techniques since he was seven. Viggo knows rather well from his previous conversations with Hiccup that the boy has not been as fortunate and thus lacks the necessary self-defense skills to get through life as it is.

Hiccup finds words unnecessary and irrelevant as the chief rises from his seat across the desk. Hiccup rises, too, following the chief out of the office. Viggo escorts the boy through the maze of hallways and to the main courtyard, where Mason and Oscar are currently training under Ryker Grimborn’s instruction and watchful gaze. They pause their sparring upon the chief’s entrance, Mason standing at attention and Oscar’s posture remaining a bit more casual. Hiccup notices that his friends had switched weapons for today’s training, with Mason using a staff and Oscar handling a sword. 

Viggo decides it necessary to comment based on what he had seen of the training before he entered the courtyard. “Mason, your stance is too wide for using a staff. You’re only limiting your own mobility. Oscar, either your blade is imbalanced or your swings go twice as far to the right as they should.” His words earn nods from both boys, and Viggo also has a comment for Ryker, one he knows will leave the older brother rather fuming. “Ryker, either your eyesight is failing from age or you’re not paying proper attention to their forms and fighting attempts.” 

Viggo ignores the slight growl that comes from his older brother, instead getting on to business. “From today forth, Hiccup here will be joining your training attempts. Oscar, Mason, I leave you two wholly responsible for the progression of Hiccup’s combat skills.” He looks over the two boys, who both give variations of an acceptance of the order, with Mason’s more audible than Oscar’s. Viggo raises his head in a display of pride and satisfaction, addressing his still-steaming brother now, “Ryker, you’ll watch over them.”

Ryker grunts in response, watching as his younger brother leaves upon completing giving out orders. He’s not necessarily pleased with his brother’s actions, but he knows he must deal with this in silence for now, especially in front of the boy Viggo seeks to groom into a heir. Ryker has his disagreements with his younger brother’s plans, but perhaps this fate is better for the boy than the alternative; Ryker would rather have the boy here under any circumstances than ever send him back to the hellhole the boy described Berk as. 

Mason approaches Hiccup, eyes analytical as he examines Hiccup’s build and potential strengths. “Have you ever had training before?” Mason asks. It’s clear that Hiccup hasn’t trained recently, but he found it worth asking anyways. If Hiccup already has experience, then Mason and Oscar could skip teaching some of the fundamentals. 

“A bit, yeah,” Hiccup admits, knowing it’s probably useful information in one way or another. He adds, “Mostly with a sword, since I, uh, couldn’t lift most other weapons back home.” He says this rather sheepishly, knowing that it makes him sound like a weakling, but on the bright side, at least his worth isn’t judged by physical strength here. (If it was, he wouldn’t have been offered a position as a new tribe heir or anything and would have been instead shunned at best and “mysteriously” killed at worst.)

Mason nods in silent consideration as he turns his gaze to the weapons rack near the wall. However, instead of grabbing a blade from there, he approaches the pile of personal stuff that he and Oscar set aside before training. He looks through it a bit before picking up his own sword, taking it out of its sheath and checking the weight. He knows the swords on the rack tend to be rather heavy (and apparently imbalanced, because Oscar never swings too far to the right unless either his sword is imbalanced or he’s injured, and Mason knows it’s likely not the latter). While Mason’s own sword is far from the lightest one, it should be good enough for now. By the time they have their next training session, Hiccup will probably have forged his own, Mason has no doubt about that. 

Mason walks over to Hiccup with the blade and holds it out, the wickedly sharp edge shimmering in the sunlight. He grips it by the blade in his gloved hands so that Hiccup can easily grab the handle. (Despite his and Oscar’s many proofs that half-swording is a rather safe and completely valid technique, Mumma Bear would still be worried if she saw him holding the blade like this.)

Hiccup is rather surprised as he reaches out (with his left hand) and wraps his fingers around the handle of the blade. The grip is a bit odd, seeing that the straps are worn and molded to a right-handed swordmaster’s grip, but the blade is incredibly balanced and it is far lighter than any blades Hiccup has used on Berk. (Although, he wouldn’t mind having one that’s a little bit lighter. Not much, but still a bit.) He gives it a few swings to try it out, careful to not drop it. As a blacksmith himself, he recognizes the blade as created by a passionate forgemaster; the blade has engravings on the hilt, pommel, and even along the edge, engravings he has never even heard of, much less seen, and he does not understand all of them. Some are obvious, like the insignia of House Grimborn or the identifying crest of the blacksmith, but some seem to come from another world, somewhere Hiccup has never heard of. 

“Shift your grip a bit,” Oscar instructs, familiar with how Hiccup is holding the sword; he too had the same problem when he was younger and first started practicing, “and keep a more open stance. Otherwise, you’ll get blown around like a leaf.” 

Hiccup finds that most of what he had been taught on Berk proves irrelevant to him as his two friends converse and attempt to figure out the best way for Hiccup to learn to fight. Oscar is suggesting a shield in the offhand, but the shields they have are too heavy for Hiccup to use properly (although he can lift them at least, which is a slight improvement). Mason chooses to have Hiccup practice just with a sword for now to at least nail down some of the basics. Ryker doesn’t interfere much, letting the boys handle this scenario. It’s for the better, anyways -- Mason and Oscar are more patient than he is, and Viggo would surely be incredibly infuriated if Ryker messed up his master plan. Besides, beyond helping train Oscar when the boy was younger, Ryker has little experience with teaching kids who can’t pick up a small mace. 

After leaving, Viggo moves to the balcony overlooking the courtyard and watches silently as the boys practice, with Mason and Oscar correcting Hiccup gently whenever the boy makes a major mistake. He notes the close relationship Hiccup has formed not only with Oscar but with Mason as well. Figures -- the two boys com as a package most of the time. If Oscar cares for someone, Mason will likely protect them as well. It works in Viggo’s favor in the end; after all, he can’t risk someone harming his (potential) future heir. 

Light, gentle footsteps pull Viggo’s thoughts out of his musings. He turns his head to see his sister in law approaching him. Magda’s eyes display little emotion as she approaches him. Despite her rather small stature, Viggo knows better than to underestimate a woman favored by the gods. In fact, although Magda may be almost a head shorter than him, he’s the one who feels intimidated as he looks down at her. There’s rumor that a drunken bigot once insulted and spat at her as she was shopping in the market; that person was later supposedly found dead on the docks, half-eaten by a Scauldron or other beast from the sea. Does Viggo believe that tale? Well, he’d be crazy not to, seeing that his own brother witnessed both the beginning and aftermath of those events. 

“The gods have spoken once more,” Magda keeps her voice low as she walks over to stand next to Viggo, resting her elbows on the railing and looking down from the balcony and at the courtyard below. 

Viggo sighs. “I suppose that’s not a good omen, is it?” he asks, the thoughts of his tribe’s current economic state flooding back to his mind. His buyers continue to refuse to buy the fireworms at the price for the winter season, and if the tribe cannot get the profits they need and rely on, then life on the island may become more challenging than even during the previous major winter famine. He focuses his gaze on Magda, not wanting to miss a single word of the prophet’s speech.

Magda shakes her head, eyes focusing on the boys in the courtyard. “I cannot say if keeping the boy here was a good idea or not, but for the sake of not allowing him to suffer, I shall give your choice the benefit of the doubt, even if my husband and I question your motives.” Unlike some, Magda has no troubles expressing her opinions to the chiefs, largely because she knows her husband would never hurt her and her brother in law respects her far too much to find offense in her statements. Viggo isn’t happy about what she said, and she expected as much; however, sometimes the hard truth must be said. “From here on out, your decisions will bring the beginning of an end and the end of a beginning, for better or for worse,” Magda warns quietly, her words meant for the tribe’s younger chief alone. 

“And what advice can you give me on this?” Viggo asks, managing to maintain an even tone to his voice despite his internal anger at some of Magda’s accusations. So what if he wants the boy to be his heir? Hiccup will never be mistreated here, unlike how things were on the boy’s old island. 

“Family matters most. If life is like a game of Maces and Talons, then each piece cannot be brought back once killed. Never forget that again, Viggo.” With that, Magda suddenly pushes herself away from the balcony railing, stepping back with one foot and straightening her posture. She turns on her heel and walks away, pulling open both heavy doors almost effortlessly as she disappears back into the castle, leaving Viggo alone on the balcony with the winds whispering reminders to him of his past failures. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lack of updates! I had some family problems and was sick with the flu, but have no fear, I'm not abandoning this story! Updates will still be a bit slow due to exams, but there shouldn't be a two-week gap again this time around. 
> 
> Thank you all for sticking with me through everything!


	24. Through the Dark Nights and Cold Days

“Shouldn’t we be already done with all of this forge work by now?” Snotlout complains to Fishlegs, shivering as the two walk towards Gobber’s forge in the very early hours of the morning, before the sun has even risen. Almost everyone else gets to sleep in during the mornings, including Spitelout, except for them. Fishlegs’s mother is probably the only adult in the village that’s awake besides Gobber, for every morning she makes Fishlegs some crab cakes for the long work day the two teens must endure.

After the pranking spree, the twins have been forbidden from going anywhere near the forge ever again, and they are especially forbidden from entering Hiccup’s room in the back of the forge. Astrid’s temporary role as an assistant for Gothi became permanent after her hallucinatory vision that foreshadowed the village’s fate, a vision that many in the village interpret in different ways. Of course, the only person whose opinion matters is the chief, and Stoick remains bitter and continues to claim that they must set off to find his son. (He refuses to accept the fact that his son is likely either already dead or will be dead before the seas melt for spring sailing.)

That left Snotlout and Fishlegs as the only two assistants Gobber has, with both getting more decent at their work as time passes. Problem is, the brutality of winter has done nothing to dissuade the chief or convince him to let the forge rest. Instead, Stoick only increased his orders, wanting a higher and higher quota of weapons every week. The trio can barely keep up with the orders, and there’s also fear that Gobber’s health isn’t what it used to be, no matter how much the smith claims otherwise. 

“You know how the Chief is,” Fishlegs tries to rationalize the situation. “I mean, if we don’t do it, who will?” The other teens are busy, and any other viking would probably believe themselves to be too worthy for forge duty, not to mention that no one wants to get up this early to work for the day. Without them, Gobber would be stuck working alone. To be quite honest, Fishlegs is rather surprised that Snotlout is sticking around for this type of work, even if he complains about it at every given opportunity. He even stopped making fun of Fishlegs too much, which Fishlegs never really thought possible. Maybe Hiccup’s death impacted Snotlout more than the Jorgenson lets on? Fishlegs doesn’t dare ask directly, though — it’s an incredibly sensitive topic for anyone to talk about a lost family member, no matter how much the specific family member was disliked. Plus, Hiccup had been his friend, too, even if the two hadn’t gotten to talk or hang out much. Hiccup’s one of the few people that never made fun of Fishlegs for his size or unusual fears for a viking. 

“That’s the problem, Fishface!” Snotlout exclaims a bit louder than he meant to, but he could not care too much about that right now. “Why are we making so many weapons anyways? It’s winter! No one is gonna attack us when the ocean is frozen over! Besides, as much as I like having lots of weapons, we have at least ten weapons and two shields per viking right now!” 

“Okay, maybe we do have a bit too many weapons,” Fishlegs concedes, for Snotlout is right for once. To make things even more impressive, he’s right where the Chief is probably wrong. Plus, with how quickly they need to forge weapons, the quality of the weapons has lessened greatly relative to the weapons made before. (Also, Gobber’s current apprentices are decent but still have nothing on Hiccup’s skills and abilities.) 

“Exactly,” Snotlout says, bitterness seeping into his voice. His common communal role with Fishlegs has led to him trusting the Ingerman more, even if he’ll vehemently deny this if asked about it outright. “I respect the Chief and all, but right now, he’s acting worse than my dad, and last week my dad tried to make a fish basin  _ out of fish _ !”

Fishlegs falls silent, not knowing what to say. He didn’t expect to have a conversation like this when he left the house this morning. It seems like the tragedy with Hiccup led to Snotlout gaining a sort of enlightenment, a revolution of mentality and morals. It sounds absolutely crazy, but in these increasingly common moments of a more somber attitude, Snotlout has more reason than half of the village combined. The comment about Spitelout especially took Fishlegs aback — Snotlout  _ never _ speaks badly of his dad. Well, apparently never until now. 

As the two pass by the Hofferson household on their way to the forge, a creaking breaks the silence of the dark morning. Astrid sleepily stumbles out of her home with a yawn, one of her shoulder pads improperly attached and her skirt on backwards. She too must get up early for her work with Gothi, and she did not sleep well that night due to having drank some sort of potion at Gothi’s instruction. Most of the village now knows about Astrid’s prophecy, that the Gods themselves had spoken to her and shown her visions, and Gothi is presumably working hard to make sure that Astrid’s gift doesn’t fade or go to waste. 

Of course, Snotlout may have changed a bit due to his cousin’s death, but he continues to fancy himself as a ladies’ man. “Hey babe,” he calls out as she exits the house, but lets out a slight “woah, uh…” upon seeing the girl’s current state. By all definitions, Astrid is a complete mess, which is rather worrying, given that she had been the best warrior and unofficially graduated at the top of their training class for dragon killing. Snotlout is even having trouble flirting with her in the moment. 

“Hey,” she says sleepily, clearly not quite fully awake or thinking straight yet. Fishlegs and Snotlout end up sharing a small glance at one another. 

Snotlout feels something weird within himself, almost like… worry? He doesn’t really question it, though. Astrid’s probably not in the right state of mind to remember this anyways, so his reputation will remain safe as long as Fishlegs doesn’t chatter. (And he has ways of making sure Fishlegs doesn’t tell anyone.) Looking at Astrid again, he steps closer to the girl as she closes the door to her family house and asks, “Uh, Astrid? Not that I care or anything, but are you okay?”

“I’m perfectly fine,” Astrid says, her voice wavering oddly. Come to think of it, her skin tone is a bit off compared to what it normally is, too. Seems that whatever potion Gothi gave her may have some undesired (or perhaps desired) side-effects. No matter the case, Astrid probably shouldn’t try to walk to Gothi’s hut on her own; she might end up hurting herself along the way on accident. Thankfully, her peers don’t plan on letting her get injured on her way to her work. Gobber will understand why they’re late. He’s one of the few reasonable vikings in the village sometimes, even more reasonable than the Chief. (Although, given recent events, it’s not difficult to be more reasonable than Stoick the Vast. Even Spitelout is capable of such a thing by relativity due to Stoick’s current stubborn grieving state.) 

The two boys give Astrid little room for arguing (she’s not capable of it anyways) as they practically carry her to Gothi’s hut. This proves to be not only the polite course of action but also the necessary one, for the stairs leading up to Gothi’s hut are covered in ice and snow, making the climb up there rather treacherous. The boys’ focus is solely on keeping themselves and Astrid from falling; as a result, they fail to notice the imprints in the snow that betray the presence of someone else at Gothi’s hut. 

Both boys are exhausted and gasping for air as they finally reach Gothi’s hut. Snotlout, who up until now was carrying Astrid, really wishes he could just fall into a bed right now. Fishlegs is a bit less tired, having only carried Astrid during the final stretch and even then only because Snotlout didn’t want more people seeing him acting like a softie. They catch their breaths a bit before knocking on the door to Gothi’s hut. There’s light coming from inside, meaning that they’re not interrupting the village elder’s sleep, which is definitely a good thing.

After a few moments, the door opens, revealing the short mute lady. She crosses her arms upon seeing them, but her eyes widen upon seeing Astrid. She ushers the teens inside, with Fishlegs still carrying Astrid. Snotlout doesn’t know why, but he feels as if Gothi knows that Fishlegs isn’t the one who carried Astrid all the way up here, that she somehow knows that Snotlout is more of a softie than he ever wants anyone to know. Snotlout shakes off the feeling, though; good thing the old lady is mute. 

Once inside, the two boys are met with another surprise. Gobber is in Gothi’s hut, currently resting on one of the village healer’s extra beds. He’s not looking too well, which immediately makes the teens worry a bit, especially Fishlegs. Oh, he should have known this would happen, he should have expected that Gobber still wasn’t getting enough help in the forge from them and that he was overworking himself and that he would get sick as a result. Fishlegs feels rather guilty; he has his mom caring for him at home and Gobber (and even Snotlout) caring for him at work. Who does Gobber have to take care of him in turn? Stoick is too busy wallowing in grief and few other vikings care about Gobber beyond the man’s profession. 

Gothi shakes her staff in front of Fishlegs, bringing the boy’s focus onto her. She motions with her staff at another bed, and Fishlegs remembers that he’s still carrying Astrid, who has fallen asleep again by now. He looks up at Gothi, about to ask something, when the old woman motions for him to be silent. She then motions to another bed, as if… as if she wants him to lay down on it, too? Well… from what Fishlegs knows, you’re not supposed to argue with the village elder, right? He walks over to the empty bed without protest, glancing at Gothi one more time before slowly and cautiously laying down, as if there might be something under the covers that he’s afraid of squishing. 

Gothi then turns to face the Jorgenson boy and motions to another bed. Of course, unlike Fishlegs, Snotlout does attempt to protest. After all, he believes he’s shown enough of his soft side to last several months. He plans to refuse, even if that bed looks impossibly inviting for his tired body. “What? No no no, I’m not laying down, I don’t need to-” His protests are suddenly cut short with a thwack from Gothi’s staff. “Ow ow ow!” he yells, complaining. “Man, who knew old ladies can hit that hard…” he mutters. Upon realizing his complaint was heard by the old woman, his eyes go wide. With impressive speed, he suddenly dives onto the spare bed, curling up under the covers and pretending to be asleep to avoid getting hit. (Of course, that’s what he tells himself. In reality, he did fall asleep almost instantly upon laying down, much to Gothi’s approval.) 

Gothi quietly sighs in satisfaction and goes to sit down on her chair, rocking back and forth a bit on it. She lights a new candle next to her, allowing it to burn away time. She closes her eyes and considers the current situation. Astrid may be having another vision, but that is fine; Gothi has no place to interfere with the work of the gods. Gobber is ill, but he’s in her hut and recovering instead of stubbornly working in the forge. The Ingerman boy remains sweet as always to others despite the loss of his peer, a skill few possess. The Jorgenson boy is acting more mature than half the island, which Gothi never expected possible from a Jorgenson and yet she knew it would happen. Most importantly, all four of Berk’s most direct victims of Stoick the Vast’s blindness are protected beneath the roof of the sacred sanctuary that is her home. Around her, the only noises coming from within the hut are the rhythmic breaths of the members of her sanctuary. 

Speaking of the devil, Gothi stops rocking on her chair and stills as she hears heavy footsteps and swearing on the stairs leading up to her home. She grips her staff in anticipation of the chief’s arrival, using it to help herself rise from her seat. Next to her, the candle that had been new and standing proud with a young flame is now reaching the end of its lifespan, melting into nothing more than a puddle of wax on the tray. She waits patiently, checking on her guests and temporary members of the sanctuary as she bids her time until the chief finally finishes his climb to the top of the steps. 

She opens the door without waiting for the knock, catching sight of the startled chief. His hand is raised, knuckles prepare to knock on a door’s hard surface that is no longer there for him to knock on. Gothi crosses her arms, not bothering to hide her displeasure with the tribe’s chief. She’s upset with him, and she plans on making that extremely clear. 

Stoick can see her upset glare, but he doesn’t know what the matter is. He clears his throat, lowering his hand. “Mornin’, Gothi,” he greets, despite it being closer to noon and almost the afternoon. The sun has risen in the east, or at least as much as it rises during these cold winter days. The Noon Moonlight is approaching quickly, and once it does, it’ll be two continuous weeks of darkness. But, that is irrelevant; Stoick has already done everything he could to prepare the village for those annual trying times. Right now, he’s here to seek Gothi’s help on another matter, on the matter of a missing tribemate. “Have ye seen Gobber today? He hasn’t been in his forge all mornin’, and-”

Stoick’s words are suddenly cut off by a hard smack from Gothi’s staff. The chief’s treatment of his tribemates has incredibly upset the village elder, and she finds it insulting that his first concern was the forge when he came up here looking for Gobber. She can’t talk verbally, but she has plenty of other ways to get her message across, with many of them involving using her staff as a whacking tool in some form. Her glare is likewise murderous. Her last way of getting her message across (besides swinging her staff at Stoick again to shut him up) ends up being dragging the chief into the hut to have him see the consequences of his irrational commands. She doesn’t let him apologize, either — she kicks him out of her hut until he decides to wisen up. 

After that ordeal, she locks her door with a bolt and sighs, walking back to her chair and hopping onto it. As she does so, she accidentally nudges a few papers laying haphazardly on the edge of a table, sending them flying. She sighs and gets off of her seat again to pick those up, glancing through them as she gathers them into a neat pile to once more store away. The papers present further proof of Stoick the Vast’s irrationality and its consequences. One letter is particularly concerning; a friend from an allied tribe of theirs had risked travelling across the iced-over ocean to bring them news of potential Outcast activity. Gothi has long since knew that the Outcasts would stir as a result of Stoick’s decisions to call upon the other tribes for help, and the letter only confirms that the tribe should expect an attack once spring comes. After all, if there is one thing Alvin the Treacherous has been waiting his entire life for, it’s for Stoick the Vast to be weakened enough for Alvin’s victory over Berk to be guaranteed. The Outcasts have been silent for months, with no reported activity, and Gothi knows that can mean only trouble for Berk.

Instead of returning to her chair after cleaning up, Gothi walks over to her table. She uses some bones and ash and performs a sacred ritual to peer into the future. Such rituals seldom reveal clear information; if anything, the information can only become explosively dangerous if misinterpreted. However, Gothi does not plan on sharing this information with anyone else. Change is coming, and Vikings believe in tradition too stubbornly to accept even the best cases of positive change. Only after making certain that change is coming and its harbinger continues to survive and grow does Gothi allow herself to return to her chair and meditate.

When Fishlegs later awakens, he finds himself still in Gothi’s hut, the skies outside dark as the sun has already finished its brief trip across the skies. A few candles are burning in the hut, clearly recently lit. Gothi is meditating silently on her chair, and Fishlegs chooses to not interrupt. He looks around and sees that Astrid is awake, quietly caring for her axe’s blade by candlelight as she sits cross-legged on the bed. A somber look on her face reveals that the gods had given her a vision once more, and just like last time, it’s far from good. 

Astrid notices Fishlegs woke up when the large boy shifts on his bed, causing it to creak beneath his weight. She looks up, allowing her gaze to wander away from her axe as it meets Fishlegs’s eyes. Her blue orbs reveal the severity of the vision, the sadness in them almost alarming Fishlegs. The large boy slowly rises from his bed, trying to keep it from creaking too much. Thankfully, the noises don’t seem to bother Gothi; likewise, Snotlout and Gobber are too asleep, too dead to the world, to be woken up by creaking that’s quieter than the morning sickness of a milk-drinker. 

He approaches cautiously, as if she’s a wounded wildcat. He slowly moves to sit on the edge of her bed, and when she makes no movements away from him, he reaches out to place a hand on her shoulder. Most vikings say that warriors don’t cry, but Fishlegs’s mother has told him that’s not true, that crying has no relation to a lack of strength and instead simply means that a person went through a lot in some way. The Ingerman doesn’t doubt the severity of the vision — after all, there’s a reason visions from the gods are rare. They’re always important in some way. (Although, he is a bit terrified of freezing up and not knowing what to do if Astrid starts crying.)

Astrid does consider moving away or telling Fishlegs off, but that risks waking the others and allowing them to see her in this state. Besides, after seeing what she has seen, she doesn’t really mind the comforting, regardless of how much she shouldn’t be accepting this. She allows her peer to rest his hand on her shoulder, even leaning into the touch slightly. Fishlegs won’t harm her — he’s too gentle to even harm a fly, much less a dragon or warrior. And he probably won’t spread this information around.. Yeah, she’ll trust him with this, at least for now. She lets her head hang downwards, eyes avoiding all possible gazes and focusing only on her own hands, examining the lines on her palms as her thoughts wander away, leaving the hut and heading high to the skies where dragons rule. 

Fishlegs remains somberly quiet, recognizing that words would do nothing to help and may even damage the situation. He keeps a hand on Astrid’s shoulder for a few more moments, letting it drop to the bed when Astrid eventually shifts away. He watches in silence as she scoots to the edge of the bed, swinging her legs over the side and getting up almost haphazardly. Even while she’s facing away from him, he recognizes the characteristic shrug of her entire body as a sigh, one that should have been audible but had its noise drowned by a sudden howl of wind from outside. Perhaps another storm is coming, or maybe it was just coincidence, although Fishlegs believes it to be neither of those and to instead come from the powers and will of a higher being.

Astrid closes her eyes for a moment, choking back a few loose tears that threaten to escape as her mind wanders back down to earth and considers the vision the gods had presented before her. Burned ships, charred rocks, gloomy clouds, smoldering ashes, and all punctuated by a sudden roar that seemed impossibly loud when she heard it, so loud she thought her head would burst if the roar wasn’t just in a dream vision. Even now, after waking up and sitting for a few moments in silence, she still hears ringing in her ears after the nightmare scenario. What followed the roar only further chilled her to the bone — screaming, the screams of her loved ones, her peers, her tribemates. When she gets up, attempting to push away the memories of the prophecy for now, her legs prove only marginally stronger than her facade as they barely manage to transport her away from the bed and towards one of the tables that’s cluttered with a variety of items, stumbling and swaying on occasion. 

Leaning some of her weight against the table as she stands, afraid that grabbing a chair would require too much effort for her weakened state, Astrid spreads out a piece of rolled up parchment, using a paperweight at the top to help hold it flat. With her left hand holding down the bottom corner of the parchment to prevent it from rolling back up, she picks up a piece of charcoal with her right hand and pauses for a moment, mentally preparing herself. Then, releasing another sigh, she allows the vision she witnessed in the dream to float back to her from her memories. She writes down as much as she can remember, filling up one sheet of parchment and then another, ignoring the small droplets that occasionally dot the parchment in silence and smear her writing. Painful as the process may be, she knows the necessity of the matter — after all, the needs of many outweigh the desires of a few, right?

Fishlegs watches in silent admiration and worry as Astrid’s pain creates black words against faded parchment, the charcoal acting as nothing more than a conduit for her experiences and emotions. He doesn’t interrupt to ask about what she’s writing; he probably doesn’t want to know but will likely eventually find out regardless of that. He tears his gaze away from the girl, instead looking around the room and focusing on the other inhabitants. Snotlout is still asleep, dead to the world around him. It’s hard to say if Gobber is asleep or not, for he’s on his side and facing away from them, but judging by the lack of coughing, it’s probably the former. Gothi is on her old wooden chair in the corner of the room, meditating. 

And… well, that’s it, really. There’s no multitude of tormented vikings, of bedeviled children and adults, all beleaguered by responsibilities beneath which they can persevere only by nothing short of unmitigated miracle. They’re lonely souls wandering through a deadly ordeal, attempting to single-handedly support a tribe that’s on its descent towards calamity. They’re alone in this suffering, the only ones cognizant of the torment that lies ahead, powerless to prevent their blinded chief from bringing Berk’s peaceful golden age to a fiery end. Even Snotlout is able to recognize the Chief’s decisions as rash, insane, harmful.

Astrid soon finishes writing down the details of her vision. She puts down the charcoal pencil and lifts up her hand in an attempt to discreetly wipe away a few tears from the corner of her eye before looking around the room once more. Not much has changed; Gobber and Snotlout are asleep, Gothi is meditating, and Fishlegs is staring off into space, none of them quite aware yet of the fate the gods have shown Astrid in the nightmare of a vision. Astrid uses some of her remaining strength to push herself away from the table, returning back to her bed where Fishlegs still sits. She ignores him, or rather doesn’t really mind his presence; at the end of the day, they’re all in the same scenario: victims to Stoick’s the Vast’s whim and blinded decisions. 

Outside, the wind continues to howl as the skies grow impossibly dark, illuminated only by a handful of stars that manage to successfully peek out from the growing cloud cover. Gothi’s kind grace and the wooden walls of her hut are the only things keeping the mismatched group of vikings from being turned into icicles by the harsh weather that is approaching Berk. For better or worse, they are like an attached family now, whether they like it or not. No one else on Berk is capable of understanding what they are going through. They need to stick together — through the dark nights and cold days, while time marches on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried making this chapter a bit creepier. I'm not sure how well that worked out, but we'll see. Anyways, we get to see the situation on Berk once more, with some rather dark events and foreshadowing going on... As always, thank you to all of my loyal readers for sticking with me on this story. I love reading any and all comments that are left here for me. Thank you for 100 kudos and almost 2k views!
> 
> (Also, has anyone found the two references to DragonForce songs in this? One's a bit more obvious than the other, but the other is located in a more obvious spot...)


	25. Seasons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A failure in something Hiccup thinks he should be able to do combines with a feeling of homesickness and causes him to doubt himself and whether he belongs in his new home. While on a palace balcony that overlooks the entire island, Hiccup receives comfort and discovers that demons plague even the brightest of souls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter is loosely based on [Seasons (acoustic)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4slqdhFjs2A) by Dragonforce.

Hiccup throws his sword, causing the remains of the cracked blade to deeply embed themselves in the bullseye of a wooden target typically meant for marksmanship practice. His yell of frustration echoes against the stone walls surrounding the castle courtyard as he lets his body haphazardly drop down to a sitting position against the scantily alive grass. The weather beyond the courtyard continues to be freezing cold, but thanks to the dedication of several stubbornly committed tribe members, the courtyard has been liberated of its powdery white blanket. Furthermore, Agatha and Magda have teamed up to create a configuration of fireworms that creates a pocket of warmth over the guarded courtyard, creating not only a snow-free environment for plants to thrive in year-round but also an amazing and ethereal view from the rooftops, as Mason and Oscar have proven to Hiccup while sneaking out for a bit during the Noon Moonlight -- or rather, the Moonlit Noon, as they refer to it on this island. (It’s worth noting that unlike during their previous climb on the rooftops, the roofs were cleared of ice beforehand and thus no one slid down.)

Hiccup’s sword training has been going incredibly well… mostly. Hiccup has been working on practicing sword and shield techniques, his progress astonishing even Viggo Grimborn and leaving Mason and Oscar a bit smug whenever they walk past the chief brothers. Hiccup has already made himself a custom shield of a material known as gronckle iron, which is both incredibly durable and lightweight. His shield has catapults, can shoot a bola, and even has a few safely hidden blades. He also made himself a sword of the material, and while that sword is amazing, it pales in comparison to his new design -- which, unfortunately, is currently in pieces and part of it is stuck in an archery target. 

“It lasted longer than the last one,” Mason comments, knowing that it probably won’t help much but deciding to speak anyways to break the silence that has fallen over the courtyard at Hiccup’s frustrated yell. This isn’t the first sword Hiccup has broken -- it’s the fourth one today and probably the thirty-something-th one overall. Hiccup has been experimenting with new forging techniques that he has never worked with, desperately attempting to not even perfect them but at least get them right, and so far, it seems as if the entire week’s worth of work in the forge has been wasted for naught. Hiccup has made no progress, as far as he’s concerned; the blades are cracking when they shouldn’t be, unable to withstand even a training battle. 

“Not long enough,” he replies back, completely used to Mason’s sometimes unasked for commentary by now. Nonetheless, he respects Mason’s effort and attempt to cheer him up; it simply isn’t working, and that’s in no way Mason’s fault. In his perspective, he has only himself to blame for his inability to make a simple blade. If he doesn’t get this together, then one of these breaking blades may end up injuring someone else. He doesn’t care if he himself gets injured; that’s just a given, a necessary risk he’s willing to take as the creator of the abortive blades. However, the thought of accidentally hurting Oscar or Mason or anyone else as a result of his shortcomings is unbearable to Hiccup. Maybe he should listen to Viggo and not take these mistakes so personally to his overall character all the time, but if it only were that easy…

“But it’s improvement anyways,” Mason says in an attempt to counter Hiccup’s pessimistic disposition. He pauses a moment before deciding to shift the conversation topic. For one thing, Hiccup is probably too stubborn to budge on this matter until he actually creates a working blade using the specific technique. For another, Mason noticed a small red stain steadily growing on Hiccup’s arm, meaning he likely got grazed by some shrapnel when the blade (quite spectacularly) broke into pieces, with the tip shattering to fine shards. “C’mon, we’re done training for today,” he orders, sheathing his own sword. 

“Why?” Hiccup questions, not having noticed the slowly bleeding wound on his arm. He wonders if Mason is just sick and tired of dealing with helping Hiccup the Failure train. Hiccup would understand that, considering that’s how everyone used to treat him back when he was on Berk. He knows he can be incredibly difficult to deal with, that he repels many people. 

Hiccup’s self-wallowing thoughts are stopped short when Mason walks over and kneels down next to him, taking Hiccup’s arm with extreme care and precision. “You’re bleeding,” he comments as he moves away torn fabric to reveal a small gash on Hiccup’s upper arm, where a piece of the blade grazed him when it practically exploded. Mason checks the wound to make sure that there’s no pieces of shrapnel still buried in Hiccup’s flesh. After checking this, he decides that even though the injury doesn’t require immediate treatment he’ll take Hiccup to the infirmary to see Agatha anyways. After all, no one wants to deal with an upset Mumma Bear, and she becomes downright overprotectively angry when she discovers that someone has been concealing an injury from her. 

Mason leaves no space for Hiccup to argue as he helps the boy rise to his feet, silently signalling for another guard to clean up the mess created by the shattered blade while Mason focuses on getting the younger boy to the infirmary. Mason knows most of the castle like the back of his hand, but after many, many, many trips to the infirmary with Oscar from their training sessions, he can tell someone the exact amount of bricks laid out along the path between the courtyard and infirmary. They walk in mostly silence, but the lack of noise holds no hostility. It’s a comfortable, peaceful silence, and not even Hiccup is able to find anything wrong with it. 

Things pass by as a blur once they reach the infirmary. Hiccup’s wound is checked, disinfected and bandaged up; in the meantime, Mason’s work calls upon his presence, forcing his leave from Hiccup’s side. Hiccup understands, but at the same time, he wishes he had someone to hang out with for the moment to keep himself away from his darkening thoughts. Once Mumma Bear finishes fussing over him, he decides to go for a walk until Oscar is done with whatever training he needed to finish with Magda Grimborn, the mysterious woman no one seems to ever dare cross. 

Hiccup’s footsteps echo against the cold solid walls as he mindlessly traverses the hallway, searching for a purpose and place to belong. His thoughts travel back to Berk, to his home island, where Gobber could help him make a sword that won’t fall apart within the first few hits, where he has a home to return to instead of constantly intruding on his friend’s — best friend’s? — living space, where he doesn’t need to learn foreign traditions and ways of life so different and more complex than the way of life on Berk. At the same time, it is this very same complexity of life here that allows him to be more than a runt, more than what the gods have or have not given him in his muscles. It allows him to think without being insulted for thinking. It lets allows him to create without being belittled for creating. It allows him to be himself without being berated for being himself — for being who he is.

He’s torn out of his thoughts when an arm wraps around his shoulders. He almost freezes, but then relaxes upon noticing that it’s only Oscar. Hiccup’s not in much of a mood to talk, but he appreciates Oscar’s presence at his side, grateful for it but simultaneously knowing well that he could never hope to even begin to repay everything that Oscar has done for him. Oscar’s footsteps have already fallen in line with Hiccup’s; it’s likely that Oscar has already been walking at his side for several minutes now, previously without Hiccup noticing. Hiccup has been walking along his own path, but now he allows Oscar to lead him somewhere, words unnecessary for their current communication and correspondence.

They head through some halls that Hiccup is not familiar with. They pass through a balcony level that overlooks part of the throne room, where there is some sort of large contraption that Oscar explains to be a musical instrument. They travel through several more turns and up a winding spiral staircase before reaching a set of doors that Oscar pushes open with slight effort, not taking his arm away from its supportive position around Hiccup. For this, Hiccup is thankful; he would have likely fallen or tripped without it, too busy wallowing in his own thoughts and regrets. He never expected to feel so homesick for the oppressive cultural community that was Berk, but he supposes that it was simply more familiar than whatever this is. 

The view from the balcony is absolutely breathtaking. Hiccup’s legs regain their autonomy as he slips out from the protectiveness of Oscar’s arm, wandering closer to the balustrade and resting his hands on the handrail. From here, the entire village is visible; the market is bustling with people as ever, the roads are being cleared of white snow and clear ice, and the people are just going on with their lives, some of them having good days and some having not-so-good days. Sounds from the city below travels up to the balcony well, aided by the gentle wind as it sweeps the echoes of the noises towards them. Hiccup could hear the laughs of innocent children, the pleased voices of traders and consumers as they come to agreement, the hard work of a tribe he is expected to learn to lead. 

In his musings, he barely notices Oscar’s movement as the older teenager walks to Hiccup’s side and slouches with his elbows leaning against the parapet. Oscar looks out over the village with fondness in his eyes, a fondness that gets mirrored in his voice as he speaks to Hiccup without actually looking at the boy, “Mason used to drag me up here whenever I’d forget what it meant to be myself. I figured you could use a similar reminder.” 

Hiccup answers only with silence. It prompts Oscar to tear his gaze away from the bustling city-like village and focus it on Hiccup instead. Feeling the gaze, Hiccup looks away from the breathtaking view, not deserving to have his sight graced so when he’s taking away the same gift from another by altering their attention. Hiccup finds that his silence is being silently challenged and questioned by Oscar, and once more it’s Hiccup’s turn to respond. “I don’t belong here,” Hiccup whispers, avoiding eye contact, “I’m not good enough.”

“You’re too good for Berk, or for here, for that matter,” Oscar responds quickly, combatting Hiccup’s claim with his own, his voice steeled with an unarguable certainty. “I know what happened at training today — Mason told me. Let me say what I think of that: nothing. A broken blade doesn’t define you, Hiccup; instead, think of it as that the fully functional shield you made does. You’re giving your failures too much power and your successes too little credit. Maybe that may have been the way they treated you on Berk. Here, though? Flip that mentality and it’ll be more reflective. Those failed attempts with the sword are just chances to improve; just because you can’t make something perfectly on the first try doesn’t mean you’re not worth it.” 

“I can’t make mistakes like this if I’m the chief,” Hiccup mutters. 

Oscar sighs, pushing himself upright so he’s no longer leaning on the balcony balustrade. He turns his entire body to face Hiccup, resting one hand on the handrail and leaning minimally against it. He tilts his head slightly, regarding Hiccup’s expressive eyes as well as the boy’s entire posture while speaking, “But you’re not the chief yet. You’re just learning the ropes of being the heir, in fact. Mistakes will happen, and as long as you learn from them and use them to grow, it’ll be okay.”

“Doesn’t feel like I’m learning much from those mistakes,” Hiccup admits, turning away to look at the buildings below them once more but remaining aware of Oscar’s gaze on him. There’s a small moment of silence. Hiccup thinks of the shattered blade from training, which somehow leads him down the path to thinking about his family and how shattered it was, all because of him being unable to be a proper viking, all because of him being the son his father didn’t want.

“You miss them, don’t you?” Oscar doesn’t clarify who “them” refers to; he doesn’t need to.

Oscar’s sudden question makes Hiccup’s breath catch in his throat for a moment. “I do,” the boy with the emerald eyes admits, “I miss working with Gobber in the forge, or discussing whatever odd things with Fishlegs…” He sighs, reaching up with a hand to flick a few loose bangs behind his ear. They’re getting longer and a bit more annoying. He still doesn’t look at Oscar.

“And contacting them would only rekindle whatever efforts your tribe is doing to find you, which you don’t want,” Oscar finishes Hiccup’s unfinished words with his own inference.

Hiccup shakes his head in disagreement, eyes on the distant horizon. “They probably didn’t care about me enough to even search. Probably thought I got grabbed during a raid, and, you know, that was that. I, uh, sent a letter to Gobber afterwards, after a trader I know helped me get to the Northern Markets, that is. I figured he deserved to know that I was okay, that I made it away from Berk, considering that he helped me and all.” He gives a loud exhale, his breath forming a white fog. He hasn’t expected to talk about the circumstances of his running away from his tribe, but apparently that is what fate and the gods had in store for him today. “I hadn’t expected to get picked up by pirates after that, or found by your tribe; but in a way, I’m glad I was. It’s… I didn’t belong on Berk, and, you know, maybe I don’t belong here either, but I guess I can try to be better.”

Oscar maintains a silence for a moment. The pirate fiasco had been a close call, really. Hiccup had almost been not saved, except that the pirates decided to attempt sinking Ryker’s boat, mistaking it for a common merchant ship and not recognizing it as a Hunter vessel. Oscar shakes that thought off, though. The would-have-beens are irrelevant, for they no longer have a chance of happening. He formulates a response mentally before speaking, casting his gaze to the village and to the horizon beyond with a turn of his head. “You know that’s not true. They’d search if they had proof that you weren’t dead, wouldn’t they?” Although phrased like a question, Oscar’s words were a statement. 

“They don’t know I’m dead,” Hiccup counters bitterly, “if they don’t know I’m dead, how would they know not to search?”

Oscar turns his head towards the horizon and thinks about his answer before speaking. “I’ve been in a dragon raid before. I know the chances of someone being found alive after being grabbed; you know them, too, as does just about anyone else who has been in a raid.” Hiccup is about to speak again, but Oscar doesn’t let him, simply continuing to speak and trusting the younger boy to hush and let him finish. “Besides, the seas are currently a near-eternal ice shelf with how frigid this year’s winter is. There’s no way they could search for you if they wanted to.”

Here, Oscar pauses, giving Hiccup a chance to speak. However, the younger boy doesn’t take it, still processing Oscar’s point; so, Oscar continues, “This comes down to distinction between two similar questions, I suppose — do you want for them to search for you, or do you want for them to find you?”

Hiccup feels as if the world just became even colder, cold enough to freeze, to stop in place around him. He releases a breath through his mouth, similar to a sigh but not quite one either. The breath forms a puff of white fog against winter’s frozen air, and Hiccup watches the cloud dissipate, turn to nothing in front of his eyes as he attempts to keep his thoughts from doing the same. Does he want his tribe to search for him? That… how does one answer that? To say “no” would be depressing,  to say “I don’t care” would be a lie, to say “yes” would be selfish. He shouldn’t care, he knows that, but he can’t keep himself from caring. Even though he left Berk with intent to never ever ever return, he wants to be wrong, he wants his home tribe to prove that he did mean something to them, that he was more than just a runt who always got in the way. 

The second question was more difficult yet also easier. Does he want them to find him? If they find him, it means they searched, right? Hiccup focuses his gaze on Oscar now, looking at the older boy who is staring at the horizon as if he expects it to say the answers instead of Hiccup. Oscar has been nothing but good to Hiccup; same goes for Mason and just about anyone else he met here. In fact, they’ve been too good to him, really; he doesn’t deserve it. He wasn’t a member of their tribe, but they took him in anyways. He isn’t anything special, not really, and yet the has the attention of some of the best people he’s ever met. Part of him wonders if he truly did die along the way here, if this is Valhalla, and if-

“You don’t have to know those answers yet,” Oscar comments, his voice bringing Hiccup out of that train of thought. “It might be good to have them soon, like by spring when the seas melt, but it’s not a must.” His gaze is still locked on the horizon, and although Hiccup can only see Oscar’s profile, something about it tells Hiccup that perhaps Oscar knows more than most imagine, has been through more than most imagine. As if on cue, Oscar’s free hand — the one not resting against the balustrade — reaches up to touch the line that cuts across Oscar’s neck, the old scar that Hiccup still doesn’t know the story of. And perhaps he never will; it’s not his place to ask, and something tells him that Oscar probably prefers people not mentioning it.

A silence falls over them, but it’s no longer a tense one. Hiccup looks out at the horizon a bit, too, just… thinking. Thinking about everything that happened, everything that may or may not come. Part of him wants his tribe to search, if only for selfish reasons, but the other half doesn’t want them to. After all: if they never search, then they never find him and will never force him to choose between his past and his potential, between blood and friendship. For Oscar and Mason are precisely that — friends. Friends, like the ones Hiccup always wanted, like the ones Fishlegs tried to be but could never quite fill the role. Friends, who don’t shy away when things go bad. How many times did Hiccup had to deal with his cousin and peers, with his father and his tribe, on his own? Far too many. Here, he always had someone watching his back. 

How would he have spent this winter on Berk? Well, assuming he hadn’t died or jumped from Raven’s Point… but that’s another case, something he doesn’t want to focus on now. Would he have spent the start of winter sleeping in? Probably. Would he have gotten into snowball fights willingly? Probably not. (Snowball fights on Berk usually ended in him getting covered in snow, being left behind, getting frostbite, or generally getting sick.) Would he have laughed and had fun, just as he had here? Would he have been able to make his inventions without judgement from others? Would he have been able to train openly without being made fun of or bullied? No, no, and no.

Maybe it was better off if his past tribe didn’t search for him. Then, they won’t find him, and won’t give his new tribe trouble. They won’t force him to choose, won’t force him to say the truth that may hurt them more than they could ever expect. He can see it — they’ll come here all cocky, thinking he’s a damsel in need of rescuing and that he’ll be happy to return, but then he’ll need to tell them the truth, that “you know what? I think I’m actually happier here than I have ever been on Berk” truth. 

Minutes pass. Hiccup can feel the bite of the cold air, the sting of a frigid breeze against his own warm and reddening skin. He looks to Oscar and sees that the older boy’s cheeks have turned rosy from the cold as well, but Oscar still hasn’t moved from his position. There’s a certain age to his dark eyes as he continues looking at the horizon, an age far older than what he actually is. Thankfully, Hiccup manages to push down the curiosity he feels.  _ This is not his place to ask. _ Oscar brought him out here to help Hiccup; it would be rude for Hiccup to interrupt and prod in on whatever Oscar is currently thinking about. 

However, eventually Hiccup does speak up as a question pops into his head, and perhaps he speaks it before he can think it through. “You said Mason used to bring you up here in the past, right?” Here, his sudden confidence suddenly melts as Oscar turns his head to look at Hiccup. “I, uh, was wondering, and you don’t have to answer this, but… ”

Oscar speaks here when Hiccup’s words frustratingly fail the younger boy, his tone quiet and soft as a feather yet heavier than the stone bricks that form the walls of the palace. “We’re not that different in that we’ve both had rough pasts. It’s no use to compare sufferings, so I won’t. I don’t want to talk about it in detail, but... let’s just say that I survived something I shouldn’t have, and people who deserved surviving more than I did didn’t make it. I felt guilty that I took their chance at life, felt like they may still be here if I hadn’t survived. I still feel that, sometimes — it’s not a feeling that ever truly goes away. Some moments are harder than others, and some are pure hell to go through, but it’s easier to move on when you’re not left at the sole mercy of your own thoughts. We are our own worst critics, our own worst wardens, our own worst torturers… and our own worst executioners. 

“For me, winter has always been the worst season. The constant darkness made it hard to breathe and speak, and it felt like the ghosts were everywhere around me,” Oscar says, glancing Hiccup over, the scar on the older boy’s neck like a line someone drew for the executioner to strike. “One winter morning, a little over a year after the event, things were worse than usual. I don’t remember much of that day besides that I spent most of it cooped up in the house, but I remember Mason dragging me out to the palace and up here and telling me to shut up and look at the view, to focus on that instead. I doubted that it would help, but it did.” Oscar turns and rests both hands on the handrail, fingers curling around it securely as his entire body now faces the horizon. “Mason’s the only reason I got through some of those rougher moments. I wouldn’t have made it this far without him.

“He reminded me that what mattered most was what I did with the chance I got, because that’s the only thing I can change without finding a way to alter the past. He reminded me that no winter lasts forever. Seasons pass, and eventually sunlight will shine on my life again. I don’t know if I believe that all the time, and sometimes it’s a little hard to trust it, but the dark clouds fade eventually. Even if the memory of what happened stays with me for the rest of my life… well, no pain will last forever.”

Hiccup listens to and absorbs all of the things Oscar said. Despite the vague details about what happened (which Hiccup doesn’t prod for, since Oscar said he doesn’t want to talk about it much), Hiccup recognizes the mix of both pain and relief in Oscar’s tone. Pain, at the memory of what happened; relief, at the progress he has made in life since then, or perhaps at the chance to get to talk to someone else about it, to someone who also has difficulties with dealing with the past too. Hiccup knows one thing for certain — he never expected Oscar to be harboring something like this. Oscar has been nothing except good to Hiccup, and to know that even the best of people, like Oscar, have doubts about themselves… 

Hiccup can’t imagine what life would be like right now if Oscar wasn’t here. He doesn’t want to even try imagining it. The younger teen finds himself stepping closer to Oscar and placing a hand on the older teen’s shoulder, repeating back words as if they were a promise, a sacred vow, an existentially constant truth — one for them both to agree and uphold, to trust in even when things get tough.

“No winter lasts forever.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so sorry for the hiatus! My amount of free time took a bit of a nosedive down to 0 as I had to deal with prom, graduation, a low-tech usage vacation, getting ready for college, etc. I still have nowhere near the same amount of writing time as I used to before, but I promise that this story will slowly but surely progress onwards and will be finished eventually, even if the ending ends up not being what I had originally planned. 
> 
> I will provide a resolution to this story, for the thing I hate most is when amazing stories are left without an ending.


	26. Traded Whispers of Legends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Hunters receive some news. The Grimborns have an argument... and Hiccup solves it for them, whether they want him to or not. 
> 
> ("Honest Trailer" version of the summary: Mason is pretty sure he's not getting paid anywhere near enough for putting up with all this shit at times.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to SpaceKeet for writing the parts of her character: Agatha.

When the trader ships finally arrive on the horizon one early morning during early spring, Mason is the first one at the docks, which have been cleared of the ice that covered them only days ago. A familiar voice greets him as the boats are anchored and the planks are lowered.

“Master Mason — Just the person I wanted to see!”

“Greetings, Johann. Welcome back.” Mason kept his tone even, neither excited nor bored. So far, no one else has showed up at the docks yet.

“Ah yes, it is good to be on friendly lands once more! Now, I trust the winter went smoothly for your tribe?” Mason knew what this was a reference to. Johann had saved the tribe from starving by communicating with buyers and convincing them to buy things from the Hunters at the proper prices. 

“Fishing for compliments as always, but yes, it has. Thank you for acting as liaison with the buyers.”

“I trust you upheld your part of the deal, Master Mason?” Of course, the deal hadn’t been one-sided. There was something in it for Johann as well, something that the merchant desperately needed, even more so now than when he originally made the deal.

“Of course,” Mason confirms, taking a scroll out of his pocket. “Here’s the decree, signed by Chief Grimborn himself — you are relieved of the duty of paying all merchant taxes for the past year.”

“ _ All _ merchant taxes?” Johann asks in disbelief, looking over the paper. Sure enough, the man’s words are true, and Johann doesn’t have to give up a single gold coin from his earnings on the island — which is a good thing, given that he currently doesn’t have much coin left, not after showing up on Berk and being there during a dragon raid and having one of his wealthier ships sunk. The Hooligan tribe tried to help, of course, but most of Johann’s most valuable possessions ended up at the bottom of the great sea. 

“I don’t half-ass jobs; you know that.” Mason’s voice contains little emotion but is strong nonetheless. Around them, people started to wander over to the docks. During winter, the tribe always has few traders, so spring is an anxiously-awaited time for shopping sprees every year. This year especially — the winter was rough, starting early and ending late, and it’s been months since a merchant with good stock last docked at their island.  

“Then I suppose the legends about you must be true, Master Mason — you must be more than a mere man! Even the Bog-Burglar tribe recognizes and speaks highly of your skills.” A pause, then the trader drops his voice to a whisper as he leans closer so that only Mason will hear the next words. “Speaking of rumors, word has it on the seas that since the ice around the Isle of Berk has thawed, the Chief is renewing efforts to search for his son and for the Dragon’s Nest. The fellow tribes in the area, the Berserkers included, are getting upset.” Then, the trader steps back, voice now loud and dramatic, for this part is not secretive. “Oh, what a horrible story it is! Their young heir, lost to the dragons! Why, I would have never expected that it would come to something so, so, so terrible! It’s such a horrific loss!”

“It sure is depressing,” Mason comments without missing a beat. He looks over Johann’s stock while the merchant prattles on about “a young life snuffled out too early” and other shit like that. Bottom line, at least the act killed off any suspicions that the tribe’s new adopted member is, say, the very same boy that happens to be missing from the Isle of Berk. In the meantime, Mason looks over the hair dyes Johann had on sale. With one hand, he discreetly reaches under the table, sliding his hand along its underside until he finds a small scroll that was attached to it and hanging down. He rips it off, maintaining the illusion that is simply looking at dyes, and pockets it. After a few moments, he steps away from the table… then reconsiders, steps towards it again, and picks up a specific jar that caught his eye.

“Trader Johann?” He asks, getting the trader’s attention. He lifts up the jar to show it to the merchant. “How much for this?”

Johann pauses for a split second, almost unnoticeably, before replying cheerily, “ah, that! I knew you’d like it! Consider it a gift, from one friend to another.” 

Mason nods and says his thanks. He knows it wasn’t originally planned to be a gift, but he doesn’t argue. After all, it simply means he impressed Johann, which translates to a strengthened link between them. And in his line of work… well, let’s just say that Johann is already an incredibly valuable informant and liaison, and getting more information out of the merchant will make the Chief much happier. (Mason ends up buying a few other things as well, partially to solidify the opportunity that he has been presented with but also partially because he needs the stuff.)

Merchandise in hand, Mason heads up to the palace. He’s not on-duty until later this evening, thank the gods. Oscar and Hiccup are probably still in bed, knowing them. If Hiccup wasn’t there, Mason wouldn’t have left the house — after all, Oscar’s safety and well-being are the loyal guard’s priority, and always will be. However, with Hiccup around, Oscar isn’t alone, and so it’s fine if Mason heads out in the mornings to handle some business around the village, be it collecting dues from people who owe him in some way or simply buying something nice for himself. 

He doesn’t need to look around much as he walks through the castle, muscle memory leading him down hallways and up staircases. He stops a few times here and there to collect payment (in the form of information) from the occasional guard, and he makes a stop to drop off the scroll he got from Johann’s ship in Viggo’s office, but otherwise he doesn’t stray from his intended path. The bag in his hand — plain and nondescript, leaving no hints as to what it contained — hung down at his side, swinging slightly as he traversed through the palace.

After a bit of walking, he enters a familiar private corridor. He gives a small nod of acknowledgement to the guard standing next to the door and the guard returns the gesture before stepping aside. “The Lady is in the room, sir,” the guard reports to Mason, which is the news the man had been hoping to hear. The person he’s seeking can often be difficult to track down otherwise, when she’s not in her room.

“Thank you,” he responds, allowing a bit of appreciation to slip into his otherwise even tone as he reaches up with a hand and places a hard knock against the wooden door. He lowers his hand, standing at respectful attention. He sees the guard next to the door shifting, straightening his back and no longer leaning against the wall as some noise echoed out from within the room. Mason resists a sigh at that, instead choosing to be silence. Not pointing out the mistakes of others, despite clearly seeing them and the person knowing you saw it, can sometimes be very beneficial, even if Mason is annoyed that a guard at this particular posting isn’t always at attention. After all, people have a tendency to show more kindness to people they believe they are indebted to; Mason has gotten plenty of information out of certain individuals thanks to this, Johann included amongst them now. 

The door soon opens, and Magda Grimborn stands in the doorway. Her frown at being disturbed fades rather quickly upon seeing who her visitor is. “Mason,” she said his name in acknowledgement. “What brings you here?”

“Merchants began to return,” Mason says cryptically, answering the question without actually answering it. She probably already knows about the merchants’ visitation — like him, she knows about almost everything on the island. His reasoning for being here is deeper and more personal, something he’d rather not share with the guard currently standing beside the door. Thankfully, the Lady seems to understand that.

Magda looks to the guard standing beside the door. “Dismissed,” she says curtly.

The man bows before quickly leaving.

Once the sounds of the guard’s footsteps have faded, Magda looks to Mason once more. “I see you did some shopping of your own,” she comments, her voice lacking the sharp edge it had when addressing the guard. Instead, it is replaced with something softer, something few people ever hear from the woman. “From Trader Johann, I presume?” At Mason’s nod, she steps back and aside. “Well, what are you waiting for? Come in, come in. You wouldn’t have come all the way up here if it wasn’t something really impressive.”

Mason steps into the room, fist clutching the small bag he has with him tightly. He hears the door close behind him, and he lets his professional stance drop a bit. He sets the bag down on a small table and opens it, carefully taking out the rather large jar, which was the main but not the only item in the bag. After setting that aside, he takes out the other small items — hair brushes, combs, and other products. He can feel Magda’s watchful eyes on him. 

Mason towers well over Magda Grimborn when standing straight, as most people do considering the woman’s small stature, but he knows better than to succumb to the illusion that height equates to power. Everyone at the castle respects Magda, and those who don’t learn to fear her rather quickly. Rumor has it that the last drunkard who disrespected Magda (not on the Hunters’ island, but on her original home island) woke up the next day to find that all of his food and clothing had been eaten by rats. Does Mason believe this? Yes and no. Yes, because it had happened. No, because everyone politely neglects to mention that the rats had also bitten the man, including in places that were particularly painful. 

Magda eyes the large jar, recognizing it for what it is. “I see Johann came through with your request.” The slight surprise was evident in her voice, but it was gone by the next sentence. “How much did he charge?”

“People are a lot nicer once you’ve cleared their tax debts from the year,” Mason simply comments. “He thought he’d only get a break from half.”

“Sometimes, it’s better to let people doubt you,” Magda says, understanding rather well what Mason is implying. “Of course, you have an advantage there, for many are quick to dismiss legends as lies without hesitation.”

Mason shrugs at that, examining the stuff he bought to make sure none of it’s broken. “He gave it to me as a thank-you. I’m assuming that incident on Berk caused him to lose the money he needed to pay us off.” Of course Mason knows about things like that. He has his sources. He wouldn’t be himself if he didn’t know, really, not to mention that the Chiefs would have been  _ furious _ if something so major had slipped under his radar. He changes the topic, motioning to the jar as he says, “Think this is enough for my entire hair?”

Magda steps over and picks up the jar. “If it’s the same quality as always, then it’s enough for your hair four times over.” She puts it back down on the table for now. “I’d ask if you’re sure you want this, but I know you better than that.” She let her lips pull themselves into a small smile, one that most people might overlook but Mason recognizes. “Go grab us some biscuits from the main hall, along with something to drink. We’ll give everyone a bit of a surprise at tonight’s dinner.”

“Yes, Mother.” With that, Mason disappears out of the room. He’s in a private area of the castle, with no guards in sight, but he still holds back the happy whoop that threatens to make his presence known across the entire palace, if not the entire tribe. He has waited months for this, hunted down every single trader he could find that handles merchandise like this, and now it’s finally gonna happen. Thankfully, he manages to maintain a mostly neutral atmosphere around him, but if there’s a small spring in his step, as if Snoggletog came around again, as he makes his way down to the kitchens… well, no one’s gonna bother him about that. His reputation makes sure of that, too. 

While on his way back with the food, Mason takes the longer route, the one he considers a bit scenic but is fast and direct nonetheless. It also happens to be the one with the least guards along the way at this time of day, but that’s probably just a fluke. (It’s not.) He considers his past, how it somehow led to his present, and what it means for the future. Changing the color of his hair doesn’t seem like that big of a deal in itself, really — but it is. It’s another change to his identity, and yet another constant. 

He had been born to unknown people with nameless faces and an unremarkable amount of money. He ended up on the streets when he was young, so young that he didn’t really remember much before it. What he does remember is being suddenly plucked off of the streets when he was nine or so and brought to a palace — to this very palace, in fact — to be raised by Ryker and Magda Grimborn alongside their own children. He had easily been the eldest of his adoptive siblings, and thus he tried to help out as much as he could to repay the Grimborns for their kindness. To this day, he’s still handling that debt in a way, not because he’s forced to but because he wants to. 

And if Magda Grimborn wants him to refer to her as Mother, then who is he to say otherwise? 

He shakes off his reminiscence of the past as he reaches the room. He doesn’t even need to knock before the door is opened and Magda is taking the tray of baked biscuits from his hands gently to place it on a cleared surface. While he was getting food, she had been preparing things for this… occasion. 

He spends the next several hours in the room, something he couldn’t have done normally. Then again, things have been changing — Oscar has another friend, the aforementioned friend now has a tribe that actually cares for him, Viggo Grimborn now has a new heir to train… then perhaps it’s time for something about Mason to change, too. 

Once Magda finishes, she sets a mirror down in front of Mason, allowing the now-blonde young adult to look himself over. Mason’s hair is now a golden blond, looking flawlessly real, as if he were blond his entire life instead of having constantly dyed his bangs blond while the rest of his hair remained a black mop atop his head. His hair is rather long, longer than he usually has it since he refused to cut it much during the winter, and honestly it just looks so  _ good _ in general. He really likes it, and he makes certain to voice that to Magda and to thank her over and over again for this. She waves off his thanks, instead giving him a small mixture and ordering for him to drink it. Something something about the mixture keeping his hair from growing out so dark or whatever. He knows it’s probably some alchemical stuff that she made with Agatha. He won’t question it; he doesn’t understand alchemy, and he knows that Magda knew for probably a while that Mason has been wanting to change his hair color. (Also, she mentioned something about his eyebrows, too? And hair all over his body in general? Eh, if it all goes blonde, then he’s fine with that. It’s easier to dye from light to dark than from dark to light anyways.)

He ends up deciding that his current attire is good enough for heading to dinner. He’s wearing his usual uniform anyways, and seeing that he’ll technically be on-duty during the dinner, it makes sense for him to remain dressed like that. He brushes a few now-blond bangs out of his eyes, accepting a hairpin from Magda when it’s offered to him, and heads out to dinner alongside the small woman who has been like a motherly figure to him for years now. 

He straightens his back and holds his head high as they leave the private hallways. It’s Magda who orders for two guards to go guard her room, and Mason has to bite back a smirk at the confusion on the guards’ faces that appears when they see him. They don’t question Magda, and thus don’t question his identity, as they travel to attend to their new assigned positions. 

They walk into the dining hall together, splitting off at the entrance; Magda heads to take her seat next to Ryker, and Mason walks over to sit with Oscar and Hiccup. It’s a more formal dinner tonight, so the Chiefs and their wives are at one table together. Oscar and Hiccup are seated at a table nearby, and the rest of the hall is filled with the members of the tribe’s upper society, including palace healers and the upper ranks of the tribal guard as well as priests. Mason lets his footsteps ring out audibly in the room and gives a small wave of his hand in greeting as they notice his approach. Oscar’s confusion is brief, lasting only a split second before breaking into a smile; Hiccup needed a moment to actually recognize Mason, and even then, it was probably the scar on Mason’s cheek that gave him away. (He’ll need to ask Magda and Mumma Bear for something to conceal that with sometime, just so he can make people really confused when he wants to.)

Up at the high table where the tribe’s leaders sit, there’s a lot of confused staring at Mason. Ryker almost doesn’t recognize his adopted son; even once he finally does realize that it’s Mason, he still asks Magda just to be sure. Magda nods in response, not expanding on the topic, and that’s that. Viggo doesn’t show much of an outwards reaction, and Agatha also recognizes Mason after a moment.

“So that’s where you’ve been all day,” Oscar comments offhandedly with a small and almost-fond smile, scooting over to give Mason a bit more space. Today, Mason chooses to sit next to Oscar rather than having Hiccup between them. Speaking of Oscar, Mason hadn’t really known how he’d react; Oscar knew about Mason wanting to go blonde for a while now, but this had also happened on short notice. 

“Wait, what? You…” Hiccup is speechless from disbelief, clearly. 

“I can guarantee that I am the same person who had snow shoved under my shirt by you two,” Mason says, reaching over to grab himself some food while Hiccup tries to get his thoughts in order. Mason skipped breakfast in favor of going out to the docks and skipped lunch in favor of making his hair blonde, so he’s really damn hungry right now, and it’s really visible based on the mountain of food he’s stacking onto his plate. “I miss anything interesting?”

“Only Hiccup finalizing the technique and design for his sword,” Oscar comments as he grabs some food for himself, having waited with that until Mason arrived.  

“Really? The one that he spent half of winter moping about?” Mason’s words are a slight exaggeration, but also not really much of an exaggeration. Both of the older boys knew how much work Hiccup had put into the sword and how much it had annoyed him when his prototypes kept shattering. (Turns out, it really was the winter that caused him so much trouble with the forgework — the blades made with that new technique he was trying to use needed to be kept out of the freezing cold for a few days after being forged so they could slowly finish cooling properly and slowly on the inside to become as strong as they should be.)

Hiccup nods sheepishly. “Yeah, that one. I, uh… also made you a sword, actually. It’s not completely ready to be out in the cold just yet, but-” Whatever else Hiccup planned to say is cut off by Mason, but the eldest member of the group doesn’t even feel bad about it.

“No, hush. You didn’t have to make me anything, so I’m not going to be upset that it’s not finished. Thank you for making me a sword, though.” With that, Mason gives Hiccup a small smile — genuine, unlike the smiles Mason usually gives most people. 

“I told him how  _ fantastically _ you broke your main one last week during that fight by the moat,” Oscar mentions.

“You know what? Loki curse your butt,” Mason says to Oscar in a deadpan, but it lacks a bite or sting.

“You wouldn’t do that; you like my butt, at least based on how often you walk behind me.” 

There’s a small “ow” from Oscar when Mason elbows the younger boy, hard. There’s also a small laugh from Hiccup at their antics. 

Their easy banter continues blessedly throughout most of the dinner, although Mason also has one ear listening to other conversations around the room as well. 

At one point, there’s a lapse in the banter of the trio, for the conversation among the ruling members of the tribe took an intriguing turn that stole all attention. It seemed like an argument, and a serious one. In fact, a lot of the people from the other tables have began quickly finishing their food and leaving, not wanting to get caught in an argument among the tribe’s leaders. Mason doesn’t mind that, for less people means less potential threats, less ways things could go wrong. Part of him hopes that literally everyone else leaves from the area, and while this may seem like an unrealistic desire, it has happened on several past occasions. 

“...but chasing after an ancient artifact that may not exist anymore is pointless,” Ryker says decisively, fork stabbing into the meat in front of him with an aggression that mirrors his tone.

“It’s not just an ancient artifact, dear brother,” Viggo corrects with certainty, “it’s the key to getting a head start over our competitors  _ and _ our clients. The untapped knowledge stored within it will expedite all of our operations and increase our efficiency and profits alike.”

“It’s an ancient artifact that has been lost to the seas for years.” Ryker refuses to back down, repeating his point once more.

Viggo lets out a laugh and corrects Ryker, “ _ Had _ been lost to the seas for years, dear brother. But, one that is lost no longer.” He takes out a scroll: the very scroll that Mason delivered to his office in the morning, in fact. The one from Johann. Mason keeps his lips sealed about that part, though; Mumma Bear would probably punish him sourly if she knew that he was following orders that fed into Viggo’s obsession with the Grimborn family heirloom, even if he technically had only been the messenger. (She probably already knows it was him, anyways.)

Mason sees Hiccup make a move to say something, but Oscar places a hand on Hiccup’s shoulder and whispers something to the younger boy. Mason pays that situation no mind; he trusts Oscar and knows Oscar is only explaining the situation to Hiccup, who has likely never heard this argument until now. 

For good reason, too. 

The older Grimborns all look over the document; Mason doesn’t need to. He knows it’s a map, one of an old shipyard that contains dozens upon dozens of sunken ships, one that (from what Johann found out for them) may contain the wreckage of  _ The Reaper _ , one of the tribe’s ships that has since gone down as a legend. The very same ship that supposedly houses the Dragon Eye, an ancient artifact of House Grimborn that is the key to unlocking ultimate knowledge of dragons. Apparently. (Mason doesn’t trust the legend, but he doesn’t blow it off either. After all, all legends are based upon truth in some form or another.) That document is a promising lead, in fact; not that it makes the current situation any better. If anything, it only makes things worse.

“We can’t drop everything in search of one artifact that may or may not be there, Viggo,” Ryker reminds his brother, who seems to be having one of his more obsession-filled moments, “we have a tribe to manage and a business to run.”

“It’s an investment,” Viggo states, his voice maintaining that obnoxiously calm tone, “It’ll help improve the empire we have built better than we alone could improve it, and you know that.”

Ryker growls angrily and rises from his seat, fists clenched as his emotions get the better of him. For a moment, it seems like he may just sock his annoyingly obsessed brat of a younger brother. There, now, and in front of everyone. In front of Hiccup. 

Suddenly, a quiet voice cuts through the air like an arrow: silent, sharp, and deadly. “ _ Ryker. _ ” Usually-silent Magda has spoken, and Ryker’s fury melted away as if it never existed in the first place, as if someone placed a snowflake atop a fireworm. Ryker sits down, closes his eyes, and breathes a few times to calm down. The entire hall fell silent at Magda’s word, as if she cast a spell over everyone. Mason lets his eyes scan over the enchanted audience before returning his attention to the Chiefs upon seeing no other threat in the hall. He ends up making the first sound, picking up his mug and drinking some mead. He keeps holding the mug in his hand afterwards though, not putting it down. (Something tells him he’ll need a drink again soon.)

“I agree with Ryker, Viggo,” Agatha starts, concern already in her voice, “you had tried to look for it before and failed plenty of times, perhaps it's time to let it go.”

“The past searches were largely blind and based upon rumor. This lead is far more promising than all past ones combined,” Viggo argues, sparing a glance at Mason, who keeps a neutral expression, neither accepting nor denying the blame for his role in sparking this discussion in the first place. 

Agatha still seems unconvinced. “And how sure of this are you? This could be a trap or you'll find a pile of rust in its place, then what?” she questions, worried. 

“The Dragon Eye doesn’t rust, my dear. It’s made to withstand all matters of heat, concussive blast, and corrosive processes. Not even changewing acid or a fireworm infestation is capable of destroying it. I’m certain we’ll find it at this location.” He had done some comparing of his own earlier using his own knowledge and notes, making sure that it made sense for The Reaper to be at that shipyard. As it turns out, it did all fit. 

Agatha shakes her head in disappointment. “And how sure are you that those claims are true by your ancestors, Viggo? We have no proof,” she says, a hardened edge to her otherwise soft voice. 

“I’ve already cross-referenced other sources. The information all matches,” Viggo insists, his voice also gaining a hardened edge. Perhaps the source of these cross-referenced documents is best left unsaid. However, Mason still adds this to his mental count of  _ how many times have I been thrown under the yak cart during one dinner _ . “We  _ will  _ find it.”

“Don’t prod fate if you can’t handle it’s bite,” Magda comments quietly, her whisper barely audible but her words speaking volumes.

Agatha nods at Magda’s words. “You're playing a dangerous game, Viggo, and I won't follow this time around,” she says, sighing heavily and picking at her food, forcing herself to take a sip of her mead. 

“We can’t let the Dragon Eye fall into the wrong hands, either,” Viggo reminds her, his voice rather grave. He doesn’t need to say what will happen if their competitors got their grubby hands on the Dragon Eye instead; the tribe already barely avoided calamity this winter as it was. If they lose the edge they have in their business, the tribe will be unable to support itself. The large majority of their people will fall ill or starve to death, worse than any past epidemic or famine.

“Then ensuring its definite disappearance is better than risking our lives — your life — for it!” she says, her voice raising slightly in worry and frustration. 

“To ensure its definite disappearance, we need to find it first to destroy it for good!” Viggo raises his voice slightly as he speaks, anger and frustration making their appearance. He takes a moment to breathe before speaking again, once more in his usual calm tone, “Besides, why destroy something that can improve the lives of every single member of our tribe?”

“Because it’s madness to try getting it, Viggo!” Ryker argues, raising his voice at his idiot of a younger brother.

“Because the information might be outdated!” Agatha counters. 

“It’s not outdated,” Mason mentions quietly. He doesn’t half-ass jobs, after all, even if he sometimes really wants to. He bites his lip upon realizing he actually said that aloud. Oops. Mumma Bear ain’t gonna be happy. 

Yeah, she isn’t pleased and sends a heavy glare his way that basically says  _ you'll be running errands for me for a month because of this _ . (Mason just shrugs at it, knowing that his main priority will probably be Oscar and Hiccup regardless of this. His boss may change, but his main job won’t.) She focuses back to her idiot husband. “Viggo, it could be at the bottom of the ocean,” she says, slightly calmer than before. 

“And if it’s not? If we don’t find it, someone else will,” Viggo counters. “We need to check this lead  _ before _ anyone else manages to get it out of the source.”

“I’ll do it,” Hiccup suddenly says, interrupting the arguing Grimborns, right as Mason is taking a drink from his mug. The result? Well, Mason almost chokes on his mead in shock and starts coughing, trying to get out the liquid that went down the wrong way. 

As his coughing fit finally winds down, Mason is well aware of the concerned gazes upon him. His little accident temporarily stole the show and released the tensions that had otherwise been brewing in the room, and for once he might consider that almost choking during dinner is not always a bad thing, given how it probably stopped one of the Chiefs from saying something that might have made the situation go even more to Helheim than it already has. However, on the flipside, they also need to face what happened, what was said — especially Hiccup’s words, which surprised Mason probably much more than they should have. Once Mason’s cough finally goes away, at least mostly, he waves his hand as an “I’m fine” gesture and sits up properly again, muffling the occasional quiet lingering cough with his hand to not steal away the attention from the matter at hand, even if he occasionally still feels Agatha glance at him in slight concern. 

In the absence of anyone else speaking, Hiccup steals the stage once more, looking to the Chiefs. “I’ve spent the entire winter working on getting better at figuring out strategies for different situations, at fighting in different styles and against different styles, at general survival and craft — maybe it’s time to finally put me to the test on all that. You know, let me lead an expedition to bring back an important artifact while you take care of the tribe and...” Hiccup’s moment of bravado seems to be winding down suddenly as doubts begin to creep back in, especially at things like Ryker’s steady glare. 

“It’s too dangerous,” says the older Chief. “We don’t know if it’s even there, and that shipyard is known for bad news.  _ Forget it. _ ” Ryker’s tone is threatening, challenging. Unfortunately for him, it doesn’t work on everyone.

“Hiccup’s right,” Oscar suddenly cuts in, supporting his friend while ignoring the glares he gets from some people, the Grimborn family included. “He’s done amazing work recently, but I don’t think he gives himself enough credit. Maybe a chance to prove himself would help him prove that to himself. I could go with him.” 

Mason’s gonna need something a lot stronger than mead to deal with this, but he also refuses the urge to glare at Oscar for the idea. As much as he hates to say it, Oscar is right about some things, especially about Hiccup’s own self-confidence and lack thereof.“ _ We _ will go with him,” Mason corrects Oscar, keeping his voice steady and making it seem as if he were on the edge of boredom instead of on the edge of actually considering drinking until he passed out. He heavily emphasized the plural pronoun at the start of that sentence and gave Oscar a glare of  _ don’t you fucking dare challenge me, squirt _ .

“We will go with him,” Oscar corrects, agreeing to Mason’s statement. He looks at the main table challengingly. Mason knows what the result of this will be; there’s enough precedent for him to say with near-certainty. It’s definitely neither the first nor last time Oscar has challenged the tribe’s leading families. If Oscar gets passionate about something, not even Mason can talk him down from it in most cases, which can be both good and bad depending on the situation.

“Oscar-” Viggo begins, but he actually  _ stops _ and hesitates at the look, the glare, Oscar gives him. (Hiccup is probably surprised to see this; Mason isn’t.) He takes a breath, letting it out in a slow exhale as his expression and eyes changed, seeming to add another five years to his appearance. After a moment, he says, almost bitterly, “Very well.” He’s not happy, but he’s ceding. “All three of you will go. I’ll arrange a crew.” And so Viggo caves.

Just as Mason expected. All is normal, except it also isn’t.

Agatha releases a heavy sigh at her husband caving to Oscar's decision and look, a look that even she can't ignore either. “Fine, if you three wish to go, you're not leaving without medical supplies, and plenty of them,” she says, her voice heavy. If she has to burden their boat, so be it. 

Mason can agree with that. “Agatha, would you be willing to provide Hiccup with some medical training?” He asks, using his professional tone, the one he always uses while on-duty. “Oscar and I will take the time to train a bit as well. Alongside this, we’ll wait out two more weeks, just to make sure we allow for the the seas to melt properly after being frozen solid for most of winter.” This will also let them pack up, get used to their new weapons, make some extra gear, and really think everything through. 

Agatha nods, smiling gently. “I will gladly teach Hiccup some medical knowledge,” she says, turning her gaze and smile to Hiccup. 

Hiccup nods and says a small thank-you to Agatha, but he doesn’t otherwise contribute to the conversation much.

“I’ll make a copy of the map for our reference. We’ll take the  _ Dawnbringer _ ,” Oscar decides. The  _ Dawnbringer _ is one of the newer ships. What the vessel lacks in firepower and defenses, it makes up for in speed and maneuverability. It belongs among the fastest ships in the known world. (It also happens to be Oscar’s favorite boat, as he’s the one who helped design it.)

“I’ve already got a crew in mind,” Mason says, giving Oscar a small nod of agreement at the mention of the specific ship. The maneuverability and small size will become incredibly useful when surrounded by the wreckages of other ships. 

“Well, I guess that’s all settled,” Hiccup comments, although given that it’s quiet, it’s unclear as to if the comment was to everyone or simply to himself. 

Viggo is not pleased, to say the least. He ends up leaving the dinner rather early to return to his quarters, likely to think in silence or to just sleep and process all of this. Agatha leaves with him. 

Ryker lingers a bit longer, his wife sitting next to him. Every once in a while, he mutters something under his breath, but he never says it loud enough for others to hear. Magda makes no indication whether she can or cannot hear the muttered words, but Mason knows that she probably can and is purposefully ignoring them. Eventually, Ryker heads out, although Magda doesn’t follow him immediately. Her gaze falls upon Mason, her silent request clear as daylight to the loyal guard, to her adopted son. Mason gives it a few minutes and talks a bit with Hiccup and Oscar before politely excusing himself, trusting Hiccup and Oscar to support one another while he handles this. Oscar must recognize the situation, for he doesn’t tease Mason about leaving early. 

Mason nods his head and bids them goodnight before walking out of the dining hall. He lets his footsteps slow, his pace relaxed and rather a polar opposite compared to how he actually feels. His face betrays nothing  as he walks down the halls, taking a small scenic walk for a few minutes. After three or four minutes, once he enters a private area of a hallway, quicker and lighter footsteps catch up to his own, and he’s aware of Magda’s presence at his side.

“I know you were only doing your job,” she starts before he can speak, wiping away his suspicions that she may lecture him. “Perhaps you are a catalyst of fate, but not its cause. You are not to blame for Viggo’s obsession. Don’t forget that, Mason.” Yeah, leave it to her to know when to comfort him a bit, because he’s pretty sure Mumma Bear is really  _ not _ happy. Oh well, he’ll find out if she cooled down a bit by morning; after all, he always finds out everything in this castle, and sooner rather than later. 

“Thank you, Mother,” he says, his voice quiet and lacking the professional tone, which was replaced with by something softer, almost familial. Of course, Magda isn’t done yet, though.

“You must protect them, Mason. Fate can be a cruel and unfair mistress, unfair in the loss she dishes out. This House knows it better than most. But, we’re standing at a crossroads, one that may alter Fate, one that may cause us to gain or lose favor with the gods, one that promises change for the tribe, for better or worse.” 

Mason knows what she’s referring to — House Grimborn has suffered a multitude of tragedies, in past and recent generations. As for change… well, some people can be very stubborn about keeping things the same, so yeah, he can see what she means about needing to protect Hiccup and Oscar. The two are different than most, after all, although they are different in dissimilar ways. He would be shocked if they weren’t destined to bring about some sort of change… although something tells him that this is the type of change that he can never predict. Whatever — he’s support and protect them no matter what, even if he has to traverse all of Midgard, Helheim, Valhalla, and Asgard to do it.

Oscar was hurt once before. Mason refuses to let something like that happen ever again.

“I will protect them, Mother. I promise.” 

Satisfied, Magda nods and bids him goodnight. “Sleep well. You should return home with them for the night.” With that, she walks down the hallway and turns a corner, disappearing and leaving Mason alone to decide.

Mason returns to Oscar’s home that night after handling a few small matters, listening to Magda’s suggestion. He knows that disobeying her never ends well, and even her suggestions are more like orders than requests. Usually, whenever she suggests something, it’s for a good reason. Mason finds it rude to ask if a suggestion is caused by a vision or something else that is equally prophetic, so he doesn’t. He just knows that Magda is seldom, if ever, wrong.

That night, Mason is there to help Oscar recover from a particularly bad nightmare, one Hiccup does not understand and never will understand. Which is fine, for it’s not Hiccup’s job to understand that nightmare, or any of Oscar’s terrible nightmares and memories and demons. It’s Mason’s role.

Always has been, always will be. Even if he changes his hair; even if he changes his appearance; even if he changes himself. He will  _ never _ allow what happened in the past to happen again, and he will do his damned best to help Oscar through the consequences of what had happened. He is Oscar’s sworn protector. 

And if he now has a second person to protect as well, then he’s fine with it. After all, Hiccup had been through his own hell on his old island, too, and if he’s also gonna bring about some much-needed change, then Mason will help keep him safe too, in any way he can. 

(But to Mason, Oscar will always come first.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longest chapter thus far! Whew! So, some major decisions were made, with even more major consequences approaching... (cue evil laughter)
> 
> Kudos and bookmarks are great; comments are a blessing. I read every single one I get and reply whenever I can, even if it is sometimes a bit delayed. 
> 
> Hopefully, it won't take me forever to write the next chapter, but we'll see. Until next time!


	27. Preparations for the Descent to Helheim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to SpaceKeet for beta'ing this and putting up with my shit.

Dodge left. Turn. Fake right. Slash. Block. Glance behind. Counter. Stab. Jump back. Slash. Roll. Kick. 

Intense training sessions mean little time to think; every action must be precise, definite, unhesitant. A moment defines the difference between a block and a blunder, a counter and a wound. One’s entire being must be focused on the battle and nothing but the battle, aware of everything around them, whether within their line of sight or not. 

When fighting with a partner in battle, focus becomes even more crucial. One must watch not only their own backs but also their partners, not only notice things their partners may miss but also know when their partners miss things, without explicitly communicating between themselves. When outnumbers many-to-one, this implicit understanding is arguably more crucial than one’s skill in battle instead. Thus, such battles are best done with someone who one knows incredibly well, not just in combat but also personally -- what they notice, what they recognize, what gets to them, what makes them tick. 

As the last opponent falls to Mason’s blade, he allows his thoughts return to him properly. He mentally checks himself over: a small pain in his calf (probably a bruise), a burning at his side (from a fucked-up dodge), but otherwise nothing notable, nothing beyond a minor scratch here or there. He rises to his feet and straightens his legs, getting his body to calm down after the intense workout of a battle. 

He turns his gaze to his partner in battle: Oscar. They fight well together; they always fight together. Because they always fight together, they fight well together; because they fight well together, they always fight together. It’s a self-fulfilling cycle. Between Mason’s swords (dual-wielding works better than a single sword against multiple opponents) and Oscar’s staff, they are a near-unstoppable duo. 

“I think that’s a new record,” Oscar comments to him, digging his staff into the dirt and leaning some of his weight against it in exhaustion. “The two of us against twenty of the most skilled fighters of the guards.”

“I’d be disappointed if we didn’t set a record with this,” Mason says, striking one sword point-first into the dirt while sheathing the other. He looks around and makes a gesture to the other guards as a silent dismissal as he continues speaking to Oscar. “We are leaving tomorrow, after all.”

“Yeah,” Oscar says with a small sigh as he looks around the courtyard at the slight damages caused by their practice battle, “Two weeks really flew by, huh?” As he talks with Mason, the guards they were training with leave the area, all tired and worn out and probably more than a bit sore after having their asses kicked. 

“We’ve prepared well enough,” Mason comments, not noticing Oscar’s behaviour quite yet, “and we’re definitely better prepared than we had been two weeks ago.” He pauses, realizing that Oscar is actively avoiding eye contact. They’re alone in the courtyard now as well. “You’re not regretting your decision, are you?”

“No, I’m not,” Oscar assures Mason, although the tone of his voice makes it sound more like he’s trying to reassure himself. “Hiccup needs this, and he needs us to watch his back for this. You know that. Besides, you saw how everyone reacted — they wouldn’t have let Hiccup go. They just...”

“Don’t understand?” Mason offers the words he believes are eluding Oscar.

“Yeah,” Oscar says, lowering his head and letting his gaze fall to the dirt they stood upon, the grass not quite growing due to both the recent weather and the constant trampling that’s inevitable when they spent so many hours training here. “I hoped things would be different this time, you know? That they’d understand, but-”

“Quiet,” Mason suddenly interrupts in a hushed tone, “we’ve got company.” Mason feels bad about hushing Oscar right now, but they’ll need to talk about this somewhere else, preferably not when other people are milling about in the area. Thankfully, Oscar seems to understand and nods, falling quiet as a few guards walk through the courtyard. Oscar doesn’t like sharing his past with others — he never did, and Mason doesn’t blame him. People would ask questions, treat him differently; Oscar doesn’t want that, and to be quite honest, neither does Mason. Besides, keeping Oscar’s past is simply their safest option. If news about it were to spread, they would have an immense amount of new problems on top of all the other shit the tribe has to deal with. 

The guards that showed up don’t fucking leave, and Mason sighs exasperatedly as he rips his sword out of the ground and sheathes it at his side. “C’mon, we’ve done enough training for today. Don’t want our entire bodies in pain for the trip.” With that, he turns on his heel and heads towards a large wooden door that leads out of the courtyard and into the confines of the palace’s stone hallways. Not lingering, he traverses down the halls, partially aware of when the doors open and close behind him and comfortably aware of when footsteps fall in step with his a few paces behind. He doesn’t bother sparing a single glance behind him, not when this situation and those footsteps are all too familiar to him, even though he hasn’t had to do this for over a little while now. (Several years ago, it was much more common.)

He takes the scenic route, avoiding guard patrols with a commonly practiced ease, and soon reaches a large set of double doors at the top of a spiral staircase made of cold, smooth stone. He pushes them open with some effort, his hearing ignoring the pained creaks of the partially rusted iron hinges that Mason finds familiar and also oddly comforting in a way. For about as long as he can remember, those doors squeaked upon opening, and they will probably continue to squeak all the way until Ragnarok and perhaps after that, too. Little things like these are often ignored, especially when some see them as an inconvenience, but Mason has always found that the little things are sometimes capable of bringing the most comfort of all.

That said, if anyone ever oils or replaces the hinges on this door, then Mason will personally gut them in the middle of the night. (Unless Oscar wants them replaced, in which case Mason will step back with his hinge-related obsession.)

The spring air still has a slight bite of cold to it, especially up here, where the winds are not caged out by the solid and fortified courtyard walls. Mason steps over towards the balustrade and places his hands on the handrail, allowing his upper body to support some of his weight so his feet may rest. He almost regrets this, as his arms are slightly sore from battle, but his feet are more sore by comparison. 

After a moment of wait, the doors behind him squeak again, and Oscar's softer footsteps approach the railing. Oscar stops next to Mason, mirroring the older’s pose against the balustrade, and looks out towards the horizon, wind ruffling his hair. Mason allows for a small silence to fall between them. 

After a moment, Oscar speaks up.

“Is it selfish for me to hope that things work out the way the Chiefs want them to?” Oscar asks. 

“No, it's not,” Mason says, turning his head just slightly so that he can see Oscar from the corner of his eye. 

“Then why do I feel like it is?” Oscar turns his head to look at Mason, likely to see his expression, and Mason does the same to face Oscar fully.

“You doubt yourself and what you deserve.” Mason keeps his tone even with conviction. 

“I don't deserve anything more than what I already have.”

“You just proved my point further.”

Oscar looks away. “Mason, I’m serious.”

“As am I.” When Oscar looks back at Mason again and establishes eye contact, Mason doesn’t flinch or look away, refusing to back down. Mason continues speaking, “You shouldn’t have to worry about the will and whim of our chiefs screwing up the life decision you made for yourself.”

“I’m not worried about it.” 

Mason knows Oscar better than to be fooled by that. 

“Yes, you are.” 

“They won’t force me if they can help it.”

“And if they can’t?”

They each maintain a glare at one another, each being stubborn as a mule about the issue. Finally, it is Oscar who looks away first, breaking eye contact abruptly and looking back out at the horizon again. Mason knows that he won this battle, even if part of him wishes that he didn’t, even if part of him wishes that he could be the one in the wrong instead so that the truth would be different.

“We shouldn’t be arguing about this,” Oscar says, “It’s not what we came here for.”

“It’s not,” Mason agrees, more focused on watching Oscar than looking at the horizon. “And yet, here we are.”

Oscar sighs. “I know. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. Better here than on the boat.” 

Mason’s words get a small, if slightly bitter, laugh out of Oscar. “At least we can agree on that,” Oscar comments. Then, he finally turns to look at Mason again. “Think we can get people to understand this time and avoid a repeat of the past?”

“If they refuse to understand, we’ll make them understand,” Mason promises. This promise is of the type that he reserves only for Oscar — a promise that will come true at any cost of gold or life. 

Oscar nods, knowing the weight Mason’s words carried. He sighs and, after a moment, leans his arms against the balustrade’s handrail, resting some of his body weight against the architectural structure instead of on his feet, appearing to not trust his own balance. Mason copies Oscar’s position, though instead of keeping his eyes on the horizon the entire time, he occasionally spares a glance at Oscar to make sure that Oscar is okay. 

The chilled wind bites at their exposed cheeks, and Mason reaches up to his face to pull his coat a bit higher and over the lower half of his face in an attempt to shield some more of his pinkened skin from the bitter cold. Judging from the small huff of laughter next to him, which was accompanied by a small mist of fog due to the warm breath meeting chilly air, Mason only succeeded in making himself look like even more of an idiot, so he let the fabric drop back down to simply shielding his neck, bearing the frozen fangs of the cold northern winds. From the corner of his eye, Mason sees Oscar shake his head slightly at Mason’s antics.

They stand together, side by side in silence, ready for whatever is to come — a pair of immovable statues, standing strong against the forces of time. 

Mason has worked with a lot of people in the past, both semi-trustworthy and otherwise. But if he ever found himself in a situation where he needed to select only one person who could decide his entire fate, he’d immediately choose Oscar.

And he hopes that the notion goes both ways. After all, they’ve been through both thick and thin together, standing at one another’s sides. If anyone tries to get in-between that, there will be worse than hell to pay. 

After a few minutes, Oscar speaks up, pushing himself away from the balustrade.

“Let’s go,” he says, “we need to head out as soon as possible.”

Mason nods in response and follows suit. The two of them reenter the castle together, walking side by side until they reach the bottom of the staircase, where each of them goes their separate way to finish preparations for the trip. After all, while most of the preparations are complete, they still need to finish tying up some loose ends. 

Mason heads to visit Magda, having promised that he would stop by one more time immediately before the journey. It will take away some of the time he would have otherwise spent helping Oscar and Hiccup finish getting ready, but he knew better than to disobey his own mother, even if she wasn’t his mother by blood. 

He sneaks past the guards in the halls purely because he can, because it’s fun and good practice, and he soon finds himself in front of the door to Magda’s room. He knocks against the door three times in quick succession, startling the guard that was standing next to the door with his sudden presence. The guard just mutters a quick apology, but Mason doesn’t quite care enough to listen to it fully.

A moment later, the door opens, and Mason is quickly being ushered into the room by the small woman who helped raise him. The door is shut behind him immediately.

“You asked to see me before I left for the expedition, Mother?” Mason asks as he sits down on a chair near the small table in Magda’s room.

“I did,” Magda confirms, walking around the room as she talks with Mason, searching for something. “Did your preparations go well?”

“Mostly,” Mason says. “We ran into a small surprise when inspecting the boat for damages last week. The mast had been weakened at the base by rot. We got it fixed, though. I also had to find someone to fill in for Hadav; his daughter fell ill, and he wasn’t going to be of help to us if his focus was constantly on her well-being.”

“Many would not have made that decision,” Magda comments.

“Not many need everyone to be at the absolute best of their performance.”

“Not many are good men, either.”

“I’m not a good man.”

“Depends on who’s asking.” 

At that statement, Mason goes quiet, knowing better than to attempt to keep arguing; instead, he simply waits patiently, examining the room around him and making a mental list of what has changed since he was last here on a visit.  _ The list will probably be much longer than usual after I get back from the expedition, _ he realizes almost bitterly, for this trip promises to be rather long. 

While lost in thought, he fails to notice as Magda approaches him until she’s right in front of him, holding a small box in her hands. Mason looks at the box, a bit confused. “What is it?” He asks, immediately noticing the complex engravings on the wooden case. 

“A gift, something believed to bring good luck.” She hands him the small wooden box.

Mason nods slightly, accepting the box into his hands. “Thank you, but you know I don’t believe much in luck, Mother.”

“I am aware,” she says, “and that’s why it’s not for you directly.”

He thinks for a moment, then states, “You want me to give this to Hiccup.”

She gives him a slightly fond smile. “Don’t let anything ever dull your sharp senses and mind, Mason. Come back safe, and bring the boys back in one piece as well.”

“I’ll do my best.” Mason rises from his seat and gives his mother a hug, bending down a bit so that it’s easier for her, the small box held securely in his hand. 

“I know you will,” Magda says, giving Mason a firm hug, as if knowing that her son might not come back the same from the expedition. “Just remember that so long as you try your best, you will not be to blame for if anything happens.”

“I know,” Mason says, loosening his grip and stepping away from the hug once Magda lets go as well. “I just have a hard time believing it at times.”

“You’ll learn to believe it with time.”

“I hope so.”

“Before you go…” Magda trails off as she turns to grab something from a shelf — a small ring, silver in color and with a crest engraved on it. It’s rather beautiful, plus its low profile means that Mason can easily wear it under gloves. “For you,” Magda says, holding out the ring to Mason. 

Mason pockets the box he was given to hand to Hiccup later and takes the ring from Magda. He recognizes it; he’d have to be a fool not to. “You’re giving me the family seal.” He looks up at her. “Why?” After all, Ryker and Magda Grimborn have several descendants, ones bound to them by blood rather than simply strays that they had picked up from the path’s edge in the market.

“Because you deserve it; you make myself and your father proud.”

Mason bites back any arguments that are forming in his mind and puts on the ring, then proceeds to bow, accepting the honor his mother is bestowing upon him. “Thank you, Mother.” Though personally he may not agree with her choice, he trusts her judgement.  

“Now go, don’t keep them waiting on you too much longer.”

And after one last goodbye, Mason leaves the room. He sneaks past the guards once more and ghosts out of the Palace unnoticed, heading for Oscar’s home, where he knows he will find his younger companions. 

It isn’t surprising to Mason in the slightest when he approaches the house and hears the familiar pounding of a hammer from the forge. He rolls his eyes and heads into the building. He steps past Oscar, a gentle touch gliding along Oscar’s shoulder as Mason moves towards Hiccup.

“Last-minute fixes, I see,” Mason comments, coming up behind Hiccup.

Hiccup gives Mason a small smile, stepping away from the worktable. He puts down his hammer and takes off his gloves. “I was just making some small adjustments to my shield. Can’t be too careful, you know?” 

“Is it done? We need to head out soon.”

“Uh, yeah, it’s done,” Hiccup says, picking up the shield and holding it against himself with the straps. “I just need to test it out and-”

Mason doesn’t let him finish, picking up a spare sword and striking the shield, causing Hiccup to give a small yell of surprise but also hide behind the shield instinctively — an instinct that Mason and Oscar and Ryker had worked hard to instill into the boy during practice. A dull thunk sounds throughout the forge as well, for Oscar also tosses something at the shield.

Hiccup lowers the shield and says sarcastically, “Right, that was completely necessary.”

Mason examines the surface of the shield afterwards. “No impact damage or scratches. You good?”

“Yeah, it distributed the force a lot better now that I modified the straps a bit,” Hiccup says, sounding rather proud of himself. “Are we heading out now?”

“Almost,” Mason replies, “I have one more thing I need to give you.” He takes out the small box from his pocket and holds it out to Hiccup. “A gift, from Lady Magda. She says it brings good luck.”

Hiccup takes the box, wonder clear in his eyes. He remains extremely careful with it, though, making sure not to drop it accidentally as he opens the small wooden box and takes out a silver pendant that depicts the tribe symbol, accompanied by a silver necklace to match. Hiccup examines it for a few moments before putting the pendant onto the necklace.

At that moment, Oscar steps forward, sidestepping around Mason and reaching out to help Hiccup put on the pendant. At that moment, Mason takes his leave, heading to Oscar’s house, the voices of the two younger boys fading to the wind as he strays away from the forge. 

The rest of the preparations go by smoothly and uneventfully; after another hour, they are boarding their boat, the crew standing at attention on the docks as they walk past.

Mason stops at the side of the plank leading onto the boat and allows Hiccup to board first. “After you,” he says when Hiccup looks at him quizzically, and thankfully Hiccup seems to catch on quickly. After all, this expedition is Hiccup’s chance to shine, and neither Oscar nor Mason plan to infringe on that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Crawls out of hell* I LIVE!
> 
> College has been _incredibly_ stressful, especially with engineering coursework. I have had next to no time to write. Also, due to a small change in interests, I ended up diving into the Marvel fandom as well, which further limited my time to work on this story. I warned you all that I have no update schedule in place. This... this is where that comes true. Make no mistake, though, I do plan on finishing this story eventually. 
> 
> Sorry for the incredibly long wait. This chapter wasn't even one of the best ones, honestly, given that much of it is a build-up. It does set us up for some very interesting future events, though... provided I find the time to write those anytime soon. 
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoyed! Comments and kudos are very much appreciated!

**Author's Note:**

> First attempt at a real HTTYD fanfic! We'll see where this goes (it'll probably end up rather dark). Expect updates to be all over the place and on no particular schedule. Warning: content in the story may be disturbing to some readers. Viewer discretion is advised.


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